


Poureth Some Sugar on Me (In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit)

by Isabel_Wall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Sass, Slow Burn, Torture, season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isabel_Wall/pseuds/Isabel_Wall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The civil war rages in heaven with Castiel on the losing side; Sam's soul remains lost, growing more damaged by the second and Dean is haunted by the ghost of possible happiness. Deception and betrayal run through the veins of Team Free Will but intriguing events force the three together when they have never been further apart. Someone is (reluctantly) back in a frankly alarming shade of pink and Sam, Dean and Castiel can either work through their divided loyalties or continue on the path of certain disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back in Black

The delicate leaves of each tree fluttered in the breeze, filling the air with a symphony of rustling. The breeze was a matter of perception of course; there was no wind in heaven unless the perceiver willed it into existence, but Castiel preferred a hint of movement. This way it seemed as if he were back on Earth, rather than in the stoic, rigid uniformity of heaven. He’d only ever visited the sacred orchard at the centre of Heaven once before, and the first time there had been neither breeze nor movement. The orchard had appeared beautiful then, but now it seemed magnificent, filled with emotion and feeling beyond anything he had previously been able to comprehend, consigned to a weapon’s form, unable to think or feel. Castiel stood in front of a cherry blossom, its pink flowers perpetually in bloom no matter the season, and reached out to the bark.

“I’m sorry Anna”, Castiel  murmured, before letting his hand drop without touching the tree, leaving it unspoiled by his poisonous contact. The orchard had always been there. Before, it couldn’t even be called an orchard, just an empty expanse of heaven that made even the highest of the heavenly host feel uneasy. Uncomfortable, simply because it hadn’t been explained; it was only after the first angel died they began to realise. The orchard was the resting place of angels. Their grace remained on this hallowed ground, preserved eternally in the most sacred form of all: giving life. The first time Castiel had come here had been purely out of duty to an angel that had fallen in the assault on hell. The trees had been fewer and far between, looking more like a garden than an orchard. With the recent increase of angelic deaths, however, it seemed that the orchard would soon become a forest. Suddenly, the muffled displacement of grass alerted him to a second presence.

“You summoned me then, brother?” Balthazar’s smooth drawl broke the silence, drawing Castiel out of his thoughts.

“I thought you weren’t going to come”. Balthazar chuckled, clearly taking Castiel’s comment as an invitation to approach.

“I have to say, I wasn’t going to. I haven’t been to Heaven since the apocalypse and I find myself quite thoroughly…occupied on Earth. Couldn’t you have picked a more cheerful spot to meet? This place has its merits I grant you, but it’s not the most uplifting place for chit chat. I’ll say this now, dear brother: I’m not getting involved in your bloody war. I quite like my grace where it is, and I don’t want it lingering here before it’s time.” His tone was light, but Castiel could see a faint wariness in Balthazar’s eyes. Castiel was not sure whether his misgivings stemmed from their surroundings or from Castiel’s summons, but that remained to be seen.

“I...apologise for summoning you so unceremoniously, brother. I’m no leader, but honestly, I don’t know who else I can tell.” Balthazar did absolutely nothing to hide his curiosity, eyes lighting up with sly mischief.  Castiel hesitated slightly, but needed an angel he could be sure wouldn’t report everything he said to Raphael.  

“Look around; there is a notable absence of a particular manifestation of grace.” Balthazar’s eyes trailed around the orchard, slightly narrowed in confusion. Castiel sighed and explained.

“There should be one tree that dwarfs the others. An archangel’s grace should create a wondrous sight and yet I don’t see an archangel’s grace here.” He watched his brother’s eyes widen in sudden realisation.

“Gabriel’s grace…it’s not here?”

* * *

 

“Dean!” He groaned , morning filtering through his barely opening eyelids and punching him in the brain like the little bitch it was. Dean opened his eyes fully; the hazy mug of his little brother swam into view. “Good morning sunshine!” The little jerk practically yelled.

“Whatimesit?”

Sam threw some clothes at Dean and huffed, already fully dressed in his favourite shade of plaid.

“An hour past when you should have been up and questioning the widow of our decapitated guy.”

 _God dammit_! Dean shot out of bed with surprising speed, making his heavy head spin. The ‘decapitated guy’ in question was one Harvey Longford who had, according to the newspapers, hacked his own head of while shaving. Sam had been throwing himself from case after case lately, ever since Crowley and Cas had rather helpfully told him that his soul had been reaching for the soap in the Cage all this time. Not that Dean objected to saving lives, but now they never had the time to look for solutions for Sam’s little ‘problem’, well big ass problem, and it was blindingly obvious that Sam did this intentionally.

 

The widow, Mrs ‘Call me Victoria’ Longford, dabbed delicately at her eyes with a napkin, sniffing almost sequentially. She had very clearly dyed blonde hair and the slight creases of budding wrinkles on her otherwise polished face, exhibiting no real sadness other than the tears welling in her eyes. Dean glanced around her house, unnerved by the pristine middle class perfection he saw. The house was straight from a freaking sitcom about the difficulties of being a rich person surrounded by the peasantry, from the elegantly framed family portraits to the glistening kitchen surfaces. It was all nauseating and worked perfectly with the raging hangover he was nursing to make him really fucking uncomfortable. The widow looked pretty uncomfortable too, her poise stiff and rigid as she sat cross-legged on the undoubtedly uncomfortable metal arm of a white armchair.

“Mrs Longford, erm Victoria, we’re really sorry to have to ask this but… did your husband have any enemies who would want to…”

“Hack your husband’s head off with a razor blade?” Sam interjected helpfully. Dean shot him a glare before finishing.

“…Harm him?” ‘Call me Victoria’ looked at him, paling.

“No…of course not! He was…well loved by everyone!” She hiccoughed, glancing frantically between the two of them, because that wasn’t suspicious at all. He placed a reassuring hand on her knee.

“I’m sure he was Victoria.”

* * *

 

“How much are you betting that guy was a dick?” Dean grumbled, swallowing his aspirin inconspicuously with the water the waitress brought. Sam sighed as his search of the police database brought up yet more piles of nothing.

“That’s what I thought but there’s no trace of any proof; no prison sentence, no GBH, no spousal battery, not even a frigging parking ticket. Nothing that could earn him a vengeful spirit or pissed off witch.”  They’d checked the house thoroughly for the standard indicators of supernatural activity, hex bags, sulphur, EMF, but all had turned up no results. Their harassed looking waitress set Dean’s grease filled burger on the table unceremoniously, flicking him a disgusted look as Dean immediately attempted to force the entire thing down his throat. Sam simply sighed and allowed Dean his moment.

“Whaddifs’notsupnatural?” Dean swallowed with great difficulty and tried again. “What if it’s not something supernatural?” Sam cast his mind back to the body they’d examined the day before, whose neck had been severed cleanly with the single razor blade found to be the murder weapon.

“I’m pretty sure we can rule his death as unnatural, Dean. The widow definitely knows something; I think we should question her again.”

“You think she’s just gonna spill all the gory details to the feds?” No, of course she wasn’t. She was too good of an actor to do that.

“We’ll be…persuasive.”

“We’re not scaring a confession out of a grieving widow!” Dean’s voice was both exasperated and strained, clearly tired of Sam’s logical solutions.

“Why not?! It would be a lot faster”.

“Because….we’re just not! Sam wouldn’t!” Ah yes, of course he wouldn’t. He would sacrifice efficiency and saving lives for the sake of preserving the privacy of one suspicious widow, Sam ought to have remembered that. But Dean’s brother wasn’t here right now; he was being tortured in hell.

“As you’re so fond of reminding me, Dean, I’m not Sam!” He glared at Dean across the table, half tempted to storm out dramatically, but then again, what would that achieve? He simply went back to his laptop, scanning Harvey’s company website. 

“Alright, so Harvey was a quality control manager at this electrical firm. We could speak to his co-workers?” Sam suggested, attempting to convey empathy in his expression. Dean merely shrugged and continued to munch his burger, conveying no cooperation in return. Sighing deeply, Sam shut his laptop and swept away from the table.

“Like hell you are questioning anyone alone, Spock.” Dean mumbled indignantly, briskly overtaking Sam and exiting the cafe. _That’s what I thought;_ Sam smirked to himself slightly before following.

 

It turned out that Dean was right more often than Sam gave him credit for; the moment they mentioned Harvey Longford, eyes were immediately downturned and speech became more careful.

“Well…you don’t want to speak ill of the dead.” One of Harvey’s subordinates had told them. “I mean, it was a horrible way to go and I feel for his wife but…he wasn’t a nice guy.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” Sam had asked, a touch of contempt edging into his voice, which earned him a harsh poke from Dean. The man had grown even more cautious at the prompt, noticeable fidgeting.  

“He…he beat his wife. I mean, everyone knew it happened but nobody ever said anything. He was high up in the company, and one time Mike called the police but nothing ever happened. Like I only ever met her once when we went to a function, but she had these bruises…I never could bring myself to say anything. I know I’m a coward, but I hope she’s found some small reprieve from this.” After exchanging meaningful glances, they thanked the man for his time and left him, the man still considerably flustered.

 

Back in the musty motel room, Dean contemplated what appeared to be the elegant spot of mould festering in the upper left hand corner of the room while Sam paced, summarising their case.

“So, the guy is an abusive dick. That’s gotta have something to do with it. The only question that remains is…what offed him? We can rule out a vengeful spirit, witches and demons, at least under normal circumstances, actually we can rule out the majority of monsters, the organs were left  intact.” Dean remained silent throughout Sam’s analysis, lounging on a flimsy wooden chair. “Dean!?” Sam barked at him, marvelling slightly at his brother’s sudden flailing and narrow escape from falling backwards off the chair. Dean regained his poise ungracefully and turned to regard Sam with apathetic eyes.

“Hmph?” Sam breathed deeply and counted to three, avoiding the creeping desire to punch Dean in the nose rather hard.  Dean rubbed his face and sighed, climbing out of the chair, which protested with a cacophony of squeaks and creaks, and began assessing the situation.

“So we figure the wife had something to do with his death, but her alibi was air-tight, her four coffee buddies backing it up. Obviously, something supernatural did her dirty work for her, but why? Out of the kindness of its heart? Things like this don’t work that way, they’ve got to get something in retur- son of a bitch!” His eyes grew wide as realisation dawned on the both of them. Sam shook his head in disbelief.

“She sold her soul.”

 

* * *

 

This was one hell of a dilemma in Dean’s eyes. On the one hand, they had a desperate woman who resorted to desperate measures when all else failed, had killed a guy who clearly had it coming, and needed to be let out of a demon deal. On the other hand (as the giant dick wearing his brother’s face kept reminding him), Victoria knew exactly what she was signing up for and it wasn’t their responsibility to stop it. Still….the nagging sense of guilt at the back of his head drummed a repetitive ‘stop this’ into his skull. Surely, it couldn’t hurt to make sure a demon deal was the real problem here before leaving. They didn’t want some Godzilla-style shit going off after they left. Because, really, that was just their luck.

 

Baby glided smoothly to rest outside of the disgustingly suburban home and Dean climbed out alone, as the “tin man” was currently sulking in the motel room at Dean’s “gentle” persuasion. He prepared himself to scare some poor shaken up woman into oblivion. The doorbell screeched obnoxiously, but it took around five minutes for Victoria to actually come to the door, evidently she had been wishing him away. Because that totally screams complete innocence.

“Yes?” She asked as she opened the door, eyeing Dean suspiciously.

“Hi, Agent Elliot, we spoke earlier and I just have a few follow up questions, can I come in?” She waved him in silently, never taking her wary eyes off his face.  After he was seated on her eerily white sofa, _seriously how does she keep that so clean,_ Victoria offered him a drink whilst her eyes warned him that he had better not accept it.

“No, thank you, I’d rather just get down to business.” She nodded briskly and perched on the arm of the armchair.

“Yes of course, a-anything.” She stammered, eyes now darting to anything except Dean’s face.

“I know about your demon deal.” Whatever reaction Dean had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t the one he got. He could have dealt with false confusion, overacting her denial or any other form of concealment. What he couldn’t understand was genuine confusion colouring Victoria’s face, frowning as she assumed that she misheard him.

“I’m sorry…what did you say?” _Well, she already assumes I’m crazy, so what the hell?_

“Your demon deal? You know? Selling your soul to take your husband’s head off. I get it, he was a dick, but was it really worth an eternity in hell?” He knew he was screwed before the words even left his mouth.

“I don’t know who you are or why you are here but you need to leave. First, you imply that I had something to do with my husband’s death and second…you rave about demons?! They’re not real, you need to get help! Now leave, or I’ll call the police.” _That could have gone a lot better_ , Dean thought to himself as he high-tailed it the fuck outta there, but overall, he was glad of the disastrous conversation. On the bright side, they knew demons weren’t involved, however, on the more worrying side, _what the hell killed Harvey Longford?_  Dean slide into his car quickly and sped away as fast as Baby could take him, apologising as her engine protested. He did not stop until he found a large supermarket that could give him the god damn pie he deserved after his stressful, hangover laden day. The neon sign was blindingly bright, reminiscent of the gates of heaven promising him a bountiful pie buffet within, and Dean let his posture relax.  Just then, the heavy guitar riff of his cell phone interrupted his bliss.

“Someone had better be having their god damn face ripped off, Sam.”

“ _Well… not quite. But I think I know what we’re dealing with._

“I’m listening.”

“ _I figured that if she was summoning a demon, she needed some kind of reference book or the internet because demon summoning ain’t exactly your standard knowledge, so I hacked into the server of this occult, new agey-style bookstore that doesn’t get a lot of business and guess what? Someone bought a book on Hinduism a day before Mr. Longford had a close shave. Pretty sketchy stuff in this book too, specifically summoning rituals. I asked in store and they reported a woman matching Mrs. Longford’s description in there asking about death in religion. We need to confront her, Dean, this is dangerous stuff and we have to stop it.”_ Dean heavily disliked Sam’s emphasis on the ‘stopping’ part but even he had to admit that pagan gods were a lot more clean-cut than a demon deal. He looked longingly at the supermarket before bringing the cold receiver back to his face.

“Alright, meet me at her house.”

* * *

 

 

Sam flipped the phone shut in frustration. He knew that Dean wouldn’t let him deal with the widow as they should, everything in his tone almost yelled ‘no’ even as his words agreed. Pagan gods were a whole other league to a simple demon deal, who knows what kind of favours Victoria promised the god in return for a murder. It was highly unlikely that whoever she summoned wanted to kill Harvey, leaving his corpse uneaten, without asking for anything in return. Without even considering his options, Sam hotwired the first car he saw in the motel parking lot, a shabby run-down thing with a suspicious damp smell, and drove in silence to Victoria’s house. He found Dean parked inconspicuously at the top of the street, sitting in the impala and gesturing for Sam to get in.

“Took you long enough to get here.” Sam stared at Dean in exasperation.

“I didn’t have a car and that one smells of piss. Anyway, why are you all the way out here?” Dean looked down guiltily.

“Victoria threw me out of the house when I asked about demons.” He mumbled, pouting as he frowned.

 “Fantastic, so shall I talk to her alo-“The impala door slammed shut before Sam could even finish his sentence.

“I guess not.” Sam murmured to himself before following.

Victoria started in shock as she saw Dean, instantly moving to slam the door before Sam wedged his foot in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, but it is vital that we talk to you!” She made desperate efforts to break Sam’s foot, causing him to wince slightly upon each slam as the jolt echoed up his tendons.

“Leave me alone! You’re here to talk about more demons or whatever it is you mad people believe in!” Her shrieking was soon to alert the neighbourhood to their efforts to break into an unarmed widow’s home so Sam quickly muttered back.

“That was a mistake. We know the truth now; you’ve been summoning a Hindu god.” The pain abated as she opened the door slightly.

“I beg your pardon?” She spoke softly, her voice barely a whisper

“Please let use in, we can talk about this.” Dean said gently. The door opened smoothly, revealing Victoria’s terrified face, her eyes fearful as she regarded the two of them.

“Co-come in, _quickly_.” She stammered, casting a cautious glance around the rest of the street before standing back to let them in. Her familiar house was pristine as ever, the smell of chemical bleach slightly fading in the air and making Sam wondered who had dared get a slight speck of dirt in this pristine palace. Victoria waved a trembling hand at the sofa at took the sleek metal framed armchair herself, smoothing down the pleats in her skirt with a nervous tremor to her every movement. Once they all took their seats, she stared at them both desperately.

“How did you know?” Sam leaned forward; from the corner of his eye he could see Dean’s terrified eyes, still distrustful of his every action. He wasn’t a monster; he knew what he was doing.

“That doesn’t matter, it happened and that’s that. What we need to do is stop the consequences.” Her face grew even paler.  “What consequences? This woman seriously had no idea what she was doing. The stupidity of most people who dabbled in this stuff astounded him, hard to believe that this sobbing mess had killed her husband.

“Well that depends really.” He could feel his tone getting colder but he made no effort to make it warmer for her comfort, she was no innocent woman.

“On-on what?” She hiccoughed.

“Which god you summoned. So who was it then? Which almighty god decided to lend a hand to a Christian woman?” Victoria blushed deeply and glanced at the crucifix on the wall with sad eyes before speaking.

“I had no choice, God wasn't listening. So I turned to another.” Dean leaned forward then, prompting Victoria to continue. “I summoned the destroyer, Kali.”


	2. Cold as Ice

Dean stared at Victoria for at least a minute in dumbstruck silence. He felt like he was doing his best goldfish impression, but he simply couldn’t help it.

“Kali?” He repeated slowly, just in case by some miracle he had misheard her.

“Yes…my request wasn’t what you’d call…benevolent.” Victoria replied tentatively, visibly flinching when Sam snorted. Even Dean chuckled slightly under his breath.

“Of course, ‘cause decapitation is the ultimate display of God’s eternal love.” Sam remarked, smirking before Dean elbowed him in the ribs.

“Please just leave me alone, it’s done now and you are being rude and unhelpful!” She cried in exasperation, in a way that only a middle class housewife could in the horror of her situation. Dean bit his lip to prevent an outburst of laughter; an outburst of anger seemed just as likely. Did this woman not understand that someone had died? Hell, more people could die, yet the Winchesters’ lack of manners seemed to be the worst of her problems. Dean cut Sam off the moment he opened his mouth.

“Listen here, because I’m only gonna say this once. Your life and possibly your soul belong to one scary-ass mother, so you are therefore no longer our greatest priority. Look, we get it, okay? You were desperate and law enforcement wasn’t doing shit for you, but you gotta understand that this was a terrible deal. I’m not so sure that we can help you out here; this is no simple demon deal, lady.” Tears began to fall thick and fast from Victoria’s glistening and guilt racked eyes, making Dean’s stomach contract painfully. In an effort to provide a shred of comfort, he placed a hand awkwardly on her shoulder, earning him a confused glare from Sam. Dean let his hand drop and instead endeavoured to cheer her up in the only way he knew.

“Have you still got the book? If we can summon her here, we might be able to deal with her.” Victoria brightened considerably, a spark of hope igniting in her dead eyes. Sam simply focused his glare further, fixing Dean with a look of utter defiance. “Could you…err… excuse us for a moment, Victoria?” Dean asked, taking his eyes off Sam for only a fraction of a second to avoid immediate smiting. She nodded and scurried away, leaving only the sound of her heels echoing off the laminate flooring to add a harsh sound to Sam’s insistent glare. The moment the sound faded away, Sam jumped up from the sofa and exploded.

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! HAS A YEAR AWAY FROM HUNTING STOPPED YOU FROM HAVING A SINGLE RATIONAL THOUGHT? THIS GODESS IS FULLY CAPABLE OF RIPPING OUR GUTS OUT AND STEWING THEM, AND YOU WANT FACE TIME?” Dean stayed quiet, leaning back slightly to avoid the full force of Sam’s outburst.

“Hey, you’re the super-efficient, super-reckless hunter with no soul or fear. I thought you’d like this plan?” Sam narrowed his eyes coldly, evidently using all of the non-verbal intimidation tactics in his arsenal, before replying.

“Self-preservation, Dean.” Dean responded with a simple shrug and the most shit-eating grin he could muster to really piss Sam off, then held his breath, waiting as his brother’s shell considered him and praying for an outcome that allowed him to keep his faculties. After a long and uncomfortable pause, Sam sat back down in silence just as Victoria returned clutching a small, black, leather-bound tome that didn’t look dark or dangerous at all.

“So this is the Hindu book of death and destruction?” Sam asked helpfully. Victoria nodded curtly to him, but handed Dean the book.

“We’ll take this with us and we’ll try to get you out of this, okay? If you need anything, call this number.” Dean told her, putting the book down momentarily to write the number on her hand.

 

Victoria looked considerably happier by the time she waved them off, clearly a lot more hopeful than Dean, who was now experiencing the death glare of his 6’4” brother with no boundaries, and a serious case of cold feet as he drove back to their motel to investigate the summoning of a violent goddess they saved once on an exceptional occasion. What could possibly go wrong here? Sam’s sour mood still radiated from him like stifling, stale air as they got into the motel room. The door swung shut with a disturbing rattle and bounced open again almost immediately, leading to a good 15 minute struggle between Dean and the door that wouldn’t fucking close. When the latch finally caught, Dean apprehensively turned to face Sam who stood holding the book of regret.

“So are we gonna talk about this or are you gonna hit me?” Dean snatched the book out of the air just before it made impact with his face. Wrinkling his nose slightly to dissipate the tickling sensation from the dust particles currently inhabiting his nostrils, Dean flipped through the wrinkled pages until he found a very morbid looking page infested with symbols and the most delightful artwork of severed heads. A tentative stroke of one symbol made Dean’s stomach churn uncontrollably.

“These are written in blood.” Dean felt even sicker when Sam seemed wholly unsurprised.

“Dean, we hunt monsters for a living, please don’t say you’re freaked by a bit of blood.”

“Touché. Well, it’s time to beam this bitch down. Which I guess you’re scarily okay with.” Sam shrugged and sat on the bed, which protested with an unnerving creak.

“Well we’ve killed pagans before; I guess it’s just another monster. Let’s just summon her and get it over with.” A smug grin fought its way onto Dean’s features as he turned away to avoid any immediate violence on his soulless brother’s part. It turned out that the summoning ritual was morally complex at best (downright disgusting at worst), requiring ingredients that turned Dean’s stomach and reminded him of just how much he hated pagan gods.

“We are not using a pregnant woman’s skull, this ritual can crawl straight back into Saw or wherever the hell it came from” Sam regarded him for a moment, his mouth pressed into a fixed line as though deep in thought. Deep in thought was never a good sign with this particular overgrown Vulcan. When he finally spoke, his tone was much softer than Dean had come to expect, probably an attempt to persuade Dean into some horrible idea.

“What else can we do? This is the summoning ritual.” Sudden realisation hit Dean like an angel’s punch to the jaw.

“No it’s not.” He sang smugly, “Victoria summoned Kali, and I seriously doubt she had a pregnant woman’s skull on hand.” Samatron 3000 was probably disappointed that he couldn’t hack into some poor knocked up chick like the evil son of a bitch he was, but Dean could rest assured that he was going to weasel the truth out of Victoria. He was tired of lies.

* * *

 

Sam should probably claim one of these seats permanently, he thought to himself as he sat on the familiarly immaculate couch. He’d probably sat on this couch more than the musty motel bed and, to be completely honest, it was more comfortable, albeit a little stiff. The whole scene before him seemed drawn from memory, more identical than even déjà vu could appear, with Victoria perched once again on the metal arm of a white chair while Dean and Sam took the couch. Though the tension wrought in Dean’s muscles and the minute tremblings of a woman who had obviously noticed betrayed the meeting as entirely disparate. Sam flexed his fingers contentedly, waiting for a violent eruption from Dean or any other indication that Sam could get the truth they needed without irritating repercussions from Dean. Judging from the heavy silence broken only by the older brother’s occasional teeth grinding, Dean had finally had enough of her lies.

“So… what is this about?” Victoria was the first to speak; her voice seemed higher in pitch every time Sam saw her, although he could hardly judge her for being nervous under the death stare of his older brother. Dean leaned forward while Sam simply smirked as he waiting for hell to unfold. He was not disappointed.

“Cut the crap, Victoria! You’ve done nothing but lie straight to our faces from the moment we said hello. Why did you give us this book when you never even used it?” The effect of Dean’s words was instantaneous. Victoria’s trembling ceased, the quivering pools in her eyes dried and Victoria, the terrified and desperate woman terrorised by her husband, slipped away as rapidly and seamlessly as a mask falling from her face. Shoulders stiffening as she drew herself up, the new and much more interesting Victoria smirked.

“I was wondering when you’d catch my little red herring.” She drawled, her voice cold and absent of all traces of emotion. Sam mirrored her smirk with smug satisfaction; wheedling answers out of her now would be all too enjoyable. Dean seemed less than thrilled with the developments, standing slowly as his hand twitched above where Sam knew his favourite gun was concealed. Any surprise he may have been feeling was gone, and Sam simply waited in self-satisfaction for his turn.

“I’m tired of games. Your whole ‘defend me’ act was convincing, I’ll grant you. It’s over now. What are you, really?” Dean asked, his voice soft and steady. Sam knew that he was probably a second away from shooting her. Victoria was unperturbed, merely slipping off the arm to settle back in the stiff chair.

“Oh sweetie, sorry to be a disappointment, but I’m human. Just a better version of myself. Victoria 2.0.” Her sneer was far too sweet, and Sam thought that the smell of bleach in her house likely mimicked her soul. Her soul? Everything snapped into place like an elastic band. Sam rose slowly, stepping beside Dean to loom over Victoria.

“So when you sold your soul to Kali, how long did she give you?” He asked, conjuring just enough sweetness to lace his voice with it. For what was likely the first time, genuine confusion coloured her features.

“How…long?” She replied, cocking her head slightly. The resemblance to Castiel was briefly blinding. With every word she spoke, Sam’s confidence grew.

“Until your soul becomes Kali’s, the hard way.” There was no reply; Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion as he turned to stare at Sam. “Or maybe it already is hers. Pagans don’t work the same way as demons, right? What’s to stop her ripping your soul right out and leaving you behind?” Eyes widening comically, Dean fixed Victoria with an incredulous stare.

“So…you’re soulless?! That explains the whole bitchy attitude disorder, but what’s with the wild goose chase? If we find Kali, you can have your soul back and your husband stays dead.”

“I don’t want that decrepit thing back” Victoria spat “it made me weak. Kali helped me, she made me strong. I was such a pitiful thing…unable to stand up to that brute; now he’s gone and I am the most alive I have ever been! Then you two turned up and started sniffing around. Kali came to me, told me to keep you off her trail until she could deal with you.” Sam tensed, fingering the hilt of Ruby’s knife as he scanned the room suspiciously for any evidence that Kali could be stalking them.

“Then why are you spilling your guts now?” Dean inquired, but Sam already knew the answer.

“She’s done avoiding you now.” A flash of light obscured Sam’s vision as he was thrown into a china cabinet, feeling glass slice through his flannel and into his back; all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut as it rained sharp shards. Shaking off the debris, Sam rose to see a furious Kali standing in the middle of a decimated living room. Victoria was nowhere to be found.

“I never wanted it to come to this, you did save my life.” Fire swallowed her arms and was reflected in her golden breastplate, it seemed as if her entire being was consumed by fiery fury. For the first time since hell, fear coursed through Sam’s very veins. Kali’s skin glowed in the firelight in a blue sheen as she approached him and Dean, who was worryingly still beside him. Sam glanced around for any form of weapon, resorting to a slightly large shard of glass he found embedded in his back. He swung it in a fruitless display of threat before she flung him aside with a flick of her wrist. The wind was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the back wall and he struggled to get back on his feet. Gasping for air, Sam braced himself for the burn that was sure to come. Instead, a resounding crash that shattered the very foundations of the suburban home rang in his ears. Before him, Castiel stood tense in a battle crouch, his angel blade glinting in the flames. His trenchcoat flared out behind him like tail feathers as he launched the blade with deadly precision into Kali’s shoulder. She hissed in pain just as Castiel noticed Sam on the floor and frowned in confusion, despite the carnage around him.

“Sam? What are you…?” He trailed off as he noticed Dean’s motionless form. He always did have a hard time focusing on anything else. Flames singed Castiel’s chest as Kali recovered with a vengeance and a handful of fire.

“Now I have you, ange-“ Kali was cut off abruptly by the sudden appearance and consequential disappearance of Balthazar, who whisked her off to god-knows-where. Castiel hastily tapped Dean’s forehead and disappeared, sparing Sam no parting glance. Sam stared at the spot previously occupied by a pissed of Goddess and a smarmy angel until a sharp intake of breath beside him drew his attention and Dean offered his eloquent and omniscient view of the situation.

“What the fuck just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the delay, my college has been working us to the bone lately but now I'm free! Many thanks to the wonderful Arial who is a better beta than I deserve.  
> 


	3. Since You've Been Gone

Dark eyes fixed Castiel in a resolute stare that would surely pervade most men with unequivocal fear. However, Castiel was not most men. The menacing glare of a goddess would not prevent him from finding his lost brother. After all the death and carnage dragging his home into barren wreckage, he needed one flash of hope that Gabriel could still be alive. The only archangel to reject the plan of an absent father could be the only real family he has left in heaven and Castiel had already lost him twice. Kali was not going to let him lose Gabriel a third time. A raw, guttural snarl escaped Kali’s lips as Balthazar opened a thin line along her wrist, letting the blood flow against her sapphire skin in a stomach-churning contrast. Castiel struggled to watch the display, regret ever rising throughout his body, but he knew that this was the nature of necessity and, though regrettable, the torture was the only way he knew to find Gabriel. There was no summoning ritual in the seraph’s knowledge and Gabriel’s vessel was missing, presumably because it was in use. That left simple praying, which had already been attempted to no avail, or using the only lead they had.

“Where’s your boyfriend, Kali?” Balthazar asked curtly and he traced the vein on her wrist with the blade. Balthazar didn’t enjoy torture, Castiel knew, but he could play the part as well as any angel he’d met with his casual flirtation and soft voice. The quirk of Balthazar’s lips flickered out of existence when Kali chose to answer the question by spitting what Castiel assumed to be venom into Balthazar’s face. After all, the enchanted chains wouldn’t really allow for much else.

“Go to hell.” Kali hissed, somehow managing to fill her words with as much venom as her saliva. Balthazar’s features twitched slightly in apparent irritation but quickly returned to a calm smile.

“No thank you sweetheart, once was quite enough. That assault on hell was nasty, wasn’t it Cassie?” He paused to raise his eyebrows at Castiel, who inclined his head in agreement, before turning back to Kali. “I save his delicate arse from Alistair only to have him save the precious damsel and take all the glory. It did seem an awful lot of trouble just to save one pathetic-“

“Balthazar.” Castiel growled a warning before he could continue. He understood Balthazar’s misgivings when it came to the Winchesters but he would not allow him to insult Dean. He had many flaws but neither man nor angel could deny his importance in both the apocalypse and averting it. His thought process was interrupted by the man himself, screaming a threatening prayer into the empty air.

“Hey, Cas! You’d better get your winged ass down here because you got some explaining to do or so help me I will drag it down here myself!”. Castiel winced at the ethereal ringing in his mind, the seventh prayer he’d heard this evening.

“Is the ape bothering you again?” Castiel looked up to see Balthazar’s eyes fixed on him, completely ignoring the fuming goddess behind him who took her opportunity to voice her own opinion.

“Are you two going to commence with inflicting mediocre pain or are you going to copulate? I have to say this is the most unfocused torture session I’ve ever endured. Do you want to find your brother or not?” Castiel ignored the personal slight and instead fixated on the latter half of her sentence. If he could just coax information out of her without torture, he would be much better served. After all, the goddess of destruction had to have a rather high pain threshold.

“Do you know his whereabouts or not?” Kali’s bloodstained lips twisted into a complacent smirk, one that tantalisingly hinted at knowledge Castiel was so desperate to achieve. He was tired of games and he needed his brother home, the only being more powerful than Raphael he could call on. Castiel knew that calling on Gabriel for his own civil war was selfish, truly, but he had no other options. If he could do this then he had no need of Crowley or purgatory. Even daring to hope that Raphael would listen to another archangel without violence was preferable to deceiving all those who believed in him, futile as it may be.

“His whereabouts? No, of course not. The last I saw of him was shortly after your so-called apocalypse when he terminated our involvement.” Kali’s account was interrupted by a snort of laughter from Balthazar.

“I’m sorry, honey, I really am but…you were dumped by Gabriel?!” He managed to choke out before creasing up again. Kali’s eyes twitched slightly in irritation but her face remained smooth and passive as she contemplated Balthazar’s form before continuing.

“He told me that he was going into hiding, however he refused to enlighten me as to how he survived his confrontation with Lucifer. It was my belief that he had perished. No great loss, it has to be said.” Balthazar took a moment to whisper to Castiel.

“Sounds like somebody is a little bitter.” His grin faltered as Castiel glared. Now was not the time for humour, he needed this investigation over quickly before Raphael could figure out his plan. It seemed as if this interrogation was getting him nowhere.

“So, you know nothing about Gabriel’s movements?” He asked, forcing the anger down to keep his voice impassive.

“I know that you’ll never find him. He doesn’t want to be found, you pathetic winged children. Gabriel made that quite clear, he’s done with all of your tantrums and spats. Forget him and move on.” Kali replied, with a hint of satisfaction as she regarded the angels. Castiel felt his hope drain away like the grace of a dying brother.

“Balthazar.” He stated, conveying both command and request in one simple name. Clearly understanding, his comrade stepped closer to Kali with a ready blade.

“Right you are Cassie, my sincerest apologies Destroyer.” Castiel turned away with remorse, feeling Kali’s accusing stare flaying his form.

“You are a coward, angel. You cannot bear to look those you execute in the eye or even have the decency to perform the act. Showing such weakness guarantees only one thing; you will fail in all that you endeavour and my only regret is that I will not be there to see it. I bought souls in the hope of protection from your tyranny but I no longer seek it.” Castiel could hear the goddess, the monster, calling him clear as a prayer but still, he could not look as her accusations ceased suddenly, with neither scream nor cry.

* * *

 

Dean stared resolutely up at the starless night sky in the salvage yard, the moon struggling to shine through the thick grey clouds imprisoning all traces of light. His throat burned with every slight movement or swallow, hoarse from yelling nonsense at clouds all damn night. Sam and Bobby were inside, most likely discussing his sanity or his blind faith but there was no dragging him inside. If there was one thing Dean prided himself on, it was his determination; or his stubbornness if you asked anyone else. He’d tried bargaining, threatening, pleading and requesting politely but all had been met with a whole heap of nothing (except for one occasion where a rustle of leaves got his hopes up and Dean spent 10 minutes calling dead plant matter a variety of colourful names). Feeling tired, annoyed, sore and hoarse, he decided to try one last time.

“Cas? Please man, I just want to understand.” His throat burned, raw and demanding as his voice croaked but the hunter started to continue. Or at least, he would have had he not have been rudely interrupted by the familiar beating of wings.

“Hello, Dea-“

“Took you long enough.” Dean rasped, regarding the slightly bedraggled looking angel. Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly at the interruption but stepped forward quietly to gently brush Dean’s throat. The moment the tingle registered on Dean’s skin he jumped away, startled.

“What the hell man?!” He yelled in shock until he realised that the burning sensation had completely disappeared. Cas looked slightly hurt by his sudden reaction and Dean hurried to remedy the situation. “I mean, thanks for healing me but seriously, a little warning next time?” Cas inclined his head in understanding.

“My apologies.” Regarding his friend with slowly diminishing suspicion, Dean cautiously questioned Cas.

“What was that thing with Kali about yesterday? I heard from Sam that you and your smarmy dickbag friend turned up and took her with you. Now I know you’re fighting your little pissing match with the douchiest angel in the garrison so why the hell do you have time to press gang goddesses? Forcefully, if I might add.” Cas continued his habit of staring relentlessly without even blinking throughout Dean’s speech. It makes it very hard to focus when you’re being x-rayed by pools of holy light. Attempting to read the expression in the angel’s eyes was no mean feat but Dean still tried, surveying his features carefully before Castiel replied.

“Gabriel is alive.” He said gravely, possibly betraying a hint of regret Dean thought, before glancing at Bobby’s house briefly. Dean’s brain took a moment to restart itself as he pondered the dilemma and then realised that he felt mostly apathetic on the whole. What does it matter that their kinda once enemy turned kinda once saviour was alive? Sure, it was impressive that he actually was alive but on the whole, he had bigger fish to fry.

“So the little shit got out then, good for him.” Cas cocked his head in confusion.

“You don’t seem surprised.” As always, Cas won the prize for pointing out the obvious. Dean supposed that it was his older brother and, given that his own brother had always undertaken a surprising resurrection this year, he could afford some empathy for the man. He could understand why Cas was trying so desperately to find him, he just wished that he could help with Sam’s soul with equal determination. He and Sam had been more like family to Cas in the past years than the entire heavenly host of dicks so why was Cas so preoccupied with looking for one estranged archan-son of a bitch! Dean clapped his hand to his forehead, marvelling at his own stupidity.

“Dean?” Cas inquired, looking concerned for Dean’s sanity as always. An archangel that doesn’t want the entire planet is roast is alive! One of the most powerful beings on the planet, why didn’t he think of this before? Dean stepped closer to Cas, probably much too close, but he was too elated to care.

“Can archangels get into Lucifer’s time out box? Like without being trapped there eternally?” Cas’s eyes settled on the hand Dean unintentionally placed on is shoulder and his entire face seemed to freeze, well more so than usual. Removing his hand to prevent flustering Cas further, Dean repeated his question.

“I suppose…they could if they were not trapped there initially. Do you think that Gabriel would bring Sam’s soul back?”

“That’s exactly what I think Cas so I’m gonna help you find the bastard. I know you’ve got shit to do upstairs so… y’know, you can do that. I’ve got this.” The corners of Cas’s mouth lifted slightly in his funny little way of a smile and Dean could have sworn he heard the faint rumbling of a chuckle as Cas dropped his head in amusement.

“What?” Dean asked, smiling in spite of himself. Lifting his head, Cas regarded him for a moment.

“You.” He said, almost fondly, before disappearing in a whirl of feathers.

* * *

 

“Do you reckon he’s done having a religious experience or what?” Bobby huffed, rummaging through a pile of mouldy pages Sam could have sworn he’d been through twenty times already. Peering through the window discreetly, Sam attempted to seek out Dean’s silhouette which had been his source of entertainment for the night as it made various gestures and dances at the non-responsive sky; however, Dean was no longer visible to him.

“No clue, Bobby. I think he might have given up.” No sooner had the words left Sam’s mouth when Dean burst through the door in annoyingly high spirits. Bobby rolled his eyes and collected the pages that had flown off the desk from the displacement of air while Dean proceeded to grab a beer from the kitchen.

“I think I've found a way to give the tin man a heart.” He sang, taking a swig of his beer. Cold horror swirled around the vortexes of Sam’s mind.

“What, for real?” He asked tentatively, daring to hope that Dean was either drunk or teasing. Sadly, Dean’s smile only grew wider.

“Yup, we have a martyr that doesn't fully understand the concept.” Sam raised his eyebrows, prompting Dean to explain. “Gabriel is alive. Somehow he gave Lucifer the slip and has been hiding out ever since.” A steady thrum of panic stirred in Sam’s heart and mind as he remembered Crowley’s warning. What this soul could do to him wasn’t worth thinking about.

“And…can he restore my soul?” He enquired cautiously, trying to hide his intentions from Dean.

“Cas certainly thinks so. So we’re gonna find him and make you a real boy again, Pinocchio.” Forcing a smile on his face, Sam searched desperately for deterrence.

“How do we even know he’s going to pull through? He couldn’t even sacrifice himself right and then hid for a year while heaven is falling to pieces! Call me nuts but when the damn trickster is your only option for salvation, you have to consider whether salvation is really worth it? And have you even considered what Crowley said? What Cas said? I’ll be a drooling mess if he crams that thing back into me and that’s even if he does!” The light in Dean’s face faded, his features hardening and becoming hostile in an instant.

“Wow Sam, tell us what you really think. He helped us stop the apocalypse.” Sam huffed in amusement.

“Yeah, safe and sound from his hiding place! You want to trust that coward with going into Lucifer’s cage? No way will he do it.” Grabbing his jacket, Sam stormed over to the door. “I need some air.” He let it slam behind him and headed out into the cold night air.

 

Sparks flew as Sam struck a match hastily, dropping it into the concoction of herbs before him. Heat erupted in his face as the bowl set alight, calling out across the Earth and heavens. There was only one angel that could make a flutter of wings sound sarcastic.

“Why here's one for the list of dumbest things ever. Summon the angel who wants to kill you.” Balthazar’s unimpressed tones echoed slightly in the derelict warehouse. Ignoring the urge to fill his face with holy oil, Sam kept his voice steady as he replied.

“Desperate times. I need your help, Balthazar.” He knew already how Balthazar would take his request but he had no other options; he had to stop Dean from returning his soul. Both sanity and life were at stake. Balthazar huffed as he swaggered towards Sam.

“Interesting...Since last time we met, you wanted to --what was it? Oh, yes, yes --fry my wings extra crispy.” A typical answer, as expected. Still, Sam persisted.

“That was a misunderstanding! I need some angelic advice and Cas won’t help me.” Balthazar’s eyebrows quirked upwards in mild curiosity.

“Oh, do continue.” He prompted, waving his hand forward in a noncommittal gesture.

“I need to know if there's a spell or a weapon, anything that can keep a soul out – forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the songs I'm naming the chapters after have been featured in the show but others haven't and really need to be.  
> 


	4. Hell's Bells

For a long moment, only the sounds of neglect could be heard in the warehouse. The rusting creaks and groans that ignite the human consciousness with terror, signalling the arrival of silent spirits or twisted monsters lurking somewhere in the nooks and crannies of the forgotten building. As someone who considered himself more familiar than most with such things, Sam thought that the associated fear was a load of bullshit. The sound of a neglected warehouse didn’t equal a forthcoming attack from supernatural horrors, cold spots or sulphur did that. A groaning door or shattered window meant that the building needed to be put out of its misery and replaced with a more efficient version. The same logic could be applied to the angel regarding him with satisfied eyes, clearly considering all manner of favours that Sam could do for him and whom Sam very much wanted to stab in the neck.

“Well?” Sam finally asked impatiently. Balthazar’s smile was making his skin crawl, no forget that, it was making his very _soul_ crawl. If he had one, that is.

“Awww, your pout is making my heart ache sweetie, it really is. Does that work on every angel that comes along?” Balthazar teased, batting his eyelashes at him as though he _wanted_ Sam to strangle the smug bastard.

“It worked on Lucifer.” Sam kept his tone flat, casually reminding Balthazar who he was dealing with and just how far he would go to wipe the Earth of dick angels in British vessels, even with piles of heavenly nukes. Smile faltering, Balthazar opened his mouth, likely to deliver some witty retort instead of actually giving Sam the information he needed. However, Sam never got to test his hypothesis as something promptly hit him very hard on the back of the head.

* * *

“Gabriel you dick. Show yourself, you don’t get to skip out of this shitstorm again.” Dean reasoned with the heavens, earning himself the usual glare from Cas. The guy just couldn’t appreciate well-structured diplomacy, Dean Winchester style.

“Brother, please. We need your help. Humanity needs your help. You fought your brother for them, don’t waste that fight and don’t waste their lives.” Cas looked genuine, all soft gooey words and remorse. Dean just wanted a fucking archangel to put Sam back together again. For a second, he wondered which tactic would produce their desired outcome but after an hour of threats and cursing contrasting Cas’s gentle reasoning and pleading, the obvious answer was ‘neither’.

“Forget it Cas, he ain’t coming.” You’d think that Dean had just told Cas that God had moved to Las Vegas and opened a strip club with the devil with the look of horror Cas gave him. It almost made Dean feel bad.

“We can’t give up, Dean! This could save Sam, or have you become accustomed to your soulless brother? We need him, whether you like it or not. So I need you to stow whatever doubt you may have about _my_ brother for the sake of yours.” Sometime in his speech, Castiel had advanced _very_ close indeed. Close enough for Dean to see that spark of defiance in his eyes, the one that threatened being molotoved with holy fire or beaten up in an alley if Dean so much as said one word in disagreement. Of course, the spark could just be his grace glowing through his very _very_ blue eyes but Dean had an imaginative mind.

“We’re not giving up man, we’ll find a way to get him here. Just…not  by talking to ourselves.”  Cas’s features relaxed in an instant and he stepped away, glancing at the ground awkwardly.

“My apologies…I thought.” He didn’t even have to continue.

“Yeah, I know. You thought that I was going to give up again. You don’t have to beat my ass in an alley, I learned my lesson.” That drew a chuckle from Cas who looked almost sheepish until a sudden crash from the kitchen made them both jump. Turning to address the unseen presence in the dark kitchen, Dean was completely unprepared for what he saw.

“Hey Bobby, you got back qui-HOLY SHIT!” Dean slapped his hand over his eyes so fast it made his nose sting and reached out quickly to Cas, trying to protect his precious innocence. Gabriel, the undead holy archangel and messenger of God, was standing in the kitchen doorway. Completely naked.

“I’m here! You can stop praying now! Please! Do you know how distracting that is when you’re in the middle of some- what?” Dean pointedly kept his and Cas’s eyes covered but the angel answered for him.

“Gabriel, your vessel is unclothed.”

“Oh!” The unmistakeable snap of his fingers sounded, indicating that it was safe to look. Gabriel was now bedecked in tight leopard print pants in a frankly alarming shade of pink that made Dean dizzy. His hair was slightly dishevelled and his face hollower than Dean remembered. In fact, the angel that stood before them seemed less vibrant than the wayward trickster transporting them into TV land in the midst of the apocalypse. That sparkle in his eyes that always promised great discomfort and humiliation was significantly softened as he looked at Dean with very faint playfulness and his whole person seemed to, well, _glow_ less than it did before. If anything, Gabriel looked older and a little mellowed, if such a thing were possible, like an over-excited bee smoked by its keeper. Cas seemed oblivious to his change, that or he was choosing to ignore it.

“It’s good to see you Gabriel.” Cas began cautiously and Dean couldn’t help but notice the relief in his voice. There were no tears or declarations or drama, but Cas’s lost brother was in front of his eyes and Dean knew what that felt like.

 “As I said, I was in the middle of something.” At least Gabriel still knew how to use his witness protection with style.

“What was her name?” Dean quipped, keeping his tone light to curb his barrage of questions that pressed against his throat, straining to escape. If Gabriel sensed any hostility, he ignored it.

“Andrew.” He replied with an exaggerated wink in Dean’s direction. “It was going well but I just couldn’t shut up the voices in my head. It’s hard to focus when all you can hear is some crap about heaven and some more crap about Sam all accompanied by a healthy dose of profanity. From you guys as well, not just Andrew. So I popped over to see what all the fuss was about and I found your boy in cahoots with one of my favourite brothers.”  

The last sentence chilled every instinct Dean had. Sam had been gone for far too long now and Dean needed him in the house, preferably strapped to the cot in the basement so Gabriel could shove some souls in their place. Undoubtedly plotting something with another angel was the very last place Dean wanted him. Cas caught his eye and nodded solemnly before turning back to Gabriel.

“Where is Sam? We need to contain him temporarily.” Gabriel’s eyes illuminated slightly with mischievous interest at Cas’s words and at least half of Dean’s brain cells decided that summoning him was a very bad choice indeed.

“Unconscious in your panic room, securely tied to a bed.” Sticking a lollipop in his mouth, Gabriel considered them carefully. “Is that it? Can I go now? Problem solved?” Sighing deeply to contain his slowly boiling temper, Dean began to explain.

“Sam’s missing a fundamental aspect of his personality. We need an archangel to grab it and Cas here found out that our favourite is still alive and tax dodging. If you listened to our prayers, you’d know this.” Gabriel’s eyebrows almost touched his hairline; it is possible that Dean’s tone may have caused some offence. Waving the lollipop threateningly, the admittedly rather short yet all powerful being advanced on him.

“Well I’m sorry that Sammy is missing the part of himself that he cannot do without but me? Listen to a Winchester? Last time I did that, I ended up dead.” Dean opened his mouth to contradict him but closed it quickly, remembering Cas’s impromptu resurrection. Previously, he’d imagined that Gabriel just turned tail and ran the moment they’d blown the hotel and lived some cushy life while the world fell apart. If Gabriel really had died facing Lucifer then Dean owed him a hell of a lot more than he’d bargained for.

“Wait, you actually died? Did God bring you back?” Dean exclaimed. Cas looked intrigued and stepped towards his brother. Buckling under their combined scrutiny, Gabriel held his hands up in resignation.

“Sort of, it’s a long story okay? My deadbeat dad had nothing to do with it. Like he even cared.” Sadness looked incredibly out of place in Gabriel’s eyes and aged him by at least 5 years. Now that Gabriel was more in the light of Bobby’s living room, lines of fatigue were clearly visible along Gabriel’s brow and mouth, shining a neon beacon of ‘something’s not fucking okay’. His genuine death was becoming more believable by the second.

“He brought me back.” Cas mumbled, as though he didn’t want Gabriel to hear. He heard anyway and for the first time, something akin to hurt clouded his features and Dean almost felt sorry for him. Gabriel’s forced laugh died in the stale air as he regarded Cas, holding his signature smirk like Atlas holding the world on his back. He couldn’t drop his act for a second and Dean understood that. How many times had Dean held onto a hollow smile as though letting it down would end the world?

“He fixed his most amusing toy you mean. So you want me to fix your problem then? To think for a moment I thought that you might have missed me.” Gabriel’s tone remained light and yet the joke never reached his eyes. They looked on, flat and expressionless, as he tested the waters.

“Of course we missed you! The entire heavenly host mourned your loss, brother. So many angels fell but we all felt your sacrifice.” Cas replied indignantly. Dean liked to think of the angels are emotionless bastards but he could read the truth from the sheer hurt in Cas’s voice. Gabriel had at least one mourner in heaven, and he was standing right in front of him.

“They didn’t mourn me! They mourned Gabriel, their powerful archangel brother who spoke truth to the masses! Did a single angel weep for a disgraced trickster god that ran away from heaven all those centuries ago?” Silence followed Gabriel’s words and he relaxed into a satisfied smirk. “I thought not. I don’t want your sympathy or lies, I want you to tell me why I’m here so I can go back to defiling saints in the knowledge that my loving family aren’t gonna bother me!” Dean took a deep breath before throwing all caution to the winds.

“Sam threw himself into the ass end of hell to save all our skins. He’s out now but his soul is still stuck there, with Michael and Lucifer. You’re the only archangel left that doesn’t want Cas’s head on a spike so we’re asking you, man, to get it back. Sam stopped your family’s little pissing match and he asked nothing in return; on his behalf I’m calling in your debt.” Dean expected some form of magical repercussions to his words, perhaps a nice new body without opposable thumbs, but Gabriel showed no visible reaction other than a raised eyebrow. And boy, did that scare the shit out of him.

“I owe you nothing. Lucifer stabbed me in the fucking heart and I _still_ elected to help your morons trap him in his time out box. My contribution to the world is done, I’d like peace now. Your problems are yours alone, apologies for any _inconvenience._ ” He spat these words with such vehemence that Dean was taken aback. They likely had precious minutes left before Gabriel blew this joint and Dean had no intention of letting him leave while Sam rotted in hell.  However, it was Cas that intervened peacefully.

“Gabriel, please. Anything that is in my power, I will perform in return.” Even this bold statement had Gabriel brushing it away with an idle wave of his hand.

“I don’t want anything from you other than peace! All I want is to stay dead. No surprise draft into your heavenly war, no return to duty, just quiet time on my own. The angels will be none the wiser to my revival and I can get on with my life.” His words ignited the faint spark of hope in Dean’s mind and he turned to Cas eagerly for confirmation. Instead of sealing this deal, Cas hesitated and considered Gabriel, frowning. What was stopping him? Gabriel’s terms were _more_ than fair. Cas had his own brother back, Dean just wanted the same.

“Cas?” He asked tentatively, attempting to prompt his response with a questioning squeeze of his shoulder. Cas finally nodded solemnly murmured his assent. Gabriel clapped his hand together enthusiastically.

“Right, let’s go break Sammy out of jail.” He disappeared with a flourish, leaving Dean and Cas standing alone as Bobby crashed through the door muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘no good murdering soulless son of a bitch’.

* * *

A hundred tons weighed down on Sam’s head, expanding against his fragile skull that could barely contain the pressure of his subconscious. The fleeting memory of screaming against the prison of his own mind as a tempestuous archangel filled every inch of his being, feeling as though he was going to explode under the weight of all that power and _hate_. Oh, the boiling hot rage burning up his soul as he struggled to get through to his broken brother lying at his feet. No, that was the _other_ Sam, the weaker Sam. He was gone and only strength was left. He blinked into consciousness, the weight dropping away as he took in the room around him. A slowly turning fan caused the light on his eyes to flash periodically and as he considered the devil’s trap painted on the ceiling and the leather straps digging into his wrists and ankles, he sighed in comprehension.

“C’mon Bobby, is this really necessary?” His gruff adoptive father stepped into his vision, suspicious eyes trained on Sam’s restrained form.

“You tell me, can I trust you not to kill me?” Sam frowned in confusion, he had no recollection of even _thinking_ of killing Bobby. He was useful, killing him would be completely redundant.

“What are you talking about? Why would I kill you?” Bobby huffed in feigned amusement and he paced further into Sam’s view without getting too close.

“Because I ran into a certain angel that seemed to believe that you were dead set on keeping your soul outta your body and the only way to do that is to murder the closest thing you have to a father. The way I figure, that’s me.” Patricide? Jigsaw pieces fitted together neatly in Sam’s head as he considered his restraints. Breaking out of them seemed easy enough and there was no shortage of weapons in the room. It would be easy enough to render himself immune to any pitiful attempts by Dean to ‘fix’ him. He quickly feigned shock, eyes widening.

“Bobby, I would never do that!” Bobby simply rolled his eyes.

“Yeah yeah and Dean would never lie to you about his feelings. I may have been born at night, boy, but it weren’t last night.” Sam’s fingers delicately worked at the leather straps, attempting to push the worn leather through the buckles. A flutter of wings stopped his progress sharply as he gaped at their new arrival. Gabriel stood before the cot, grinning at Sam smugly as he toyed something very bright in his grasp.

“How are you alive?” He gasped as Gabriel began to advance, bringing the shining object much too close.

“I am the trickster. Now pucker up buttercup.” He said simply, winking just as Dean and Cas entered the panic room.

“Wait!” Dean yelled and Sam sighed in relief, his head falling back onto the cushion.

“What?” Gabriel snapped in annoyance. “I’ve got the soul now let’s get it over with!”

“The soul is damaged.” Cas explained. “Putting it in Sam liked that would kill him. We need to alter the soul to protect him.” Gabriel frowned at Cas and Dean in turn. Sam knew a lost cause when he saw one and there was nothing they could do to fix that soul. He backed as far away from them as his restraints would allow, glancing desperately around for _anything_ that could help.

“Do you muttonheads not understand this? What happened to this soul left scars so deep no creature could erase them!” This thing was going to kill him, confirmed by at least 3 powerful beings, one of which held his soul in his hand and Dean’s eyes were still so full of soft pleading that nothing was going to stop him from murdering Sam to preserve the useless memory of his saint-like brother.

“Isn’t there anything you could do?” Dean demanded, glancing between Gabriel and Cas as though one could magically produce the answer with a snap of their fingers. Dean has to stop relying on these lost creatures; it would break all of them. His soul was resonating waves, itching toward Sam with grasping waves that longed to connect to his body. Sam began to pray silently to _any_ angel out there with an ounce of sense to get him out of there. He’d give them anything.

“There is something I could do.” Gabriel began slowly, scratching his chin with his free hand and completely ignoring Sam’s writhing. “I could temporarily wipe his memory. The memories _would_ come back but piece by piece, like slowly turning up the water to boiling temperature. He could get accustomed at each stage, coping as it comes. But you need to remember that in time, he will remember every little thing done to this soul and you don’t know how he’ll take that.”

“Isn’t there another way?” Bobby asked but Gabriel merely shook his head. Dean stood silent for a long time and everyone held their breath, waiting for his decision. Because only he could decide on Sam’s life, is that the case? The cogs turned slowly in Dean’s mind before he finally choked out:

“Fine, do it.” Sam screamed out the moment Gabriel turned back to him. Panic rose in Sam like vomit, building up with every step Gabriel took. He prepared himself to scratch and bite, to do whatever it took to keep them away.

“NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT WILL DO TO ME! PLEASE DEAN!” His cries fell on deaf ears as Gabriel knelt beside the cot and pushed the burning, writhing thing through his flesh, through his ribcage and into the empty chasm inside him. White hot light exploded inside him, ripping through his being as the soul uncurled tendrils that grasped through his body, clamouring for a root to hold onto. They rooted _everywhere,_ filling his mind with horrific images as each hook took hold, pulling his mind in all directions and tearing it apart before tugging the pieces back together and flashing such _images_ within him.

_“You ruined the plan! You insignificant little worm! I’ll bet you think you’re some big hero, saving your godforsaken world but who’s going to save you?” Sharp tools scraped away flesh with each word, exposing the bone to Michael’s vicious game. With the snap of his fingers, the bone shattered and fragments pierced his burning muscle. Lucifer held his mouth closed, he’d said how much he hated to see Sam scream with that soft voice of his. So Sam could only writhe and sob as he was unravelled, pain coursing up his soul and turning it black._

Sam thrashed his head to the side, trying to clear the scenes unfolding beneath his eyelids but Michael’s rage and Lucifer’s sneer swam in his vision, laughing manically at his pitiful attempts to escape.

_“It’s just you, me and Michael, for all of eternity.”_

Laughter, high and cruel, rang in his ears. Fingers of darkness crept up his body, smothering his nose and mouth and beckoning for Sam to embrace its purity. Sam let his entire body slacken and allowed them to drag him away from life, finally succumbing to the release of the darkness.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to work commitments, it is unlikely that you will hear anything from me until christmas. That being said, I am in no way abandoning this fic and it WILL be finished. Thank you very much for reading this far, I hope you can stick with me even if I torture our main characters horribly.  
> 


	5. Laugh, I Nearly Died

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very chunky chapter for my standards, I suppose it's some form of apology for taking so long with this. A Levels are the bane of my life but I WILL finish this fic if it kills me.  
> 

Bright spots flickered in Sam’s vision, peppering the dark and heavy layer of sleep weighing on his eyelids. His fingers twitched, calling a rush of feeling through his muscles and chasing the numbness away. Slowly and delicately, Sam abandoned the depths of his troubled sleep for the dappled light of a more troubled reality. The lines of his vision wavered as he rose but didn’t disappear; however, his stomach churned angrily and forced his entire body into a deformed crouch as he struggled to bring up bile. In all of Sam’s hangovers, he’d never experienced a sickness quite like this. The floor remained untarnished and he passed his retching fit with great relief, taking the time to contemplate his surroundings for the first time. The light dimmed periodically with the languid turns of a fan and Sam timed his breaths with each flash of light, feeling the tension drain from his body as he contemplated the all too familiar cast iron walls of Bobby’s panic room. He traced his wrist with rough fingers, analysing his skin for bruises, burns or lacerations but he found none. Nor did he detect the smell of sulphur, unless of course sulphur now smelt of cheap whisky and leather. Sam sat on the creaking metal bed, sighed once, and waited for his reality to collapse.

* * *

 

“I don’t know, Bobby. How long’s it take for a soul to install? He’s been out for 16 hours now and I don’t trust that winged Gandalf, he could have broken his head just as easy as fixed it. I’d call it revenge.”

“For what? Leaving him to die while you high tailed it out of that hotel?” Bobby answered monotonously. It was Dean’s 17th theory of the day as to why Sam hadn’t woken up yet. Oddly enough, having the traumatic experience of a flayed soul penetrate your body hadn’t occurred to him yet. Bobby was fully resigned to keep it that way; Dean had enough to worry about.

“Yeah, that. I don’t know why he holds a grudge. Not like he died or anything. Cas has exploded, what, twice for us? You don’t see him complaining.” Rolling his eyes, Bobby left him to his speculations and chose instead to polish off his second bottle of whisky of the day. It was becoming harder and harder to supress the nagging voice at the back of his grapefruit, imitating that dick angel’s drawl in a repetitive drone. If Gabriel had failed to make an appearance, Sam could have killed Bobby and that was an undeniable fact. Consciousness and reason be damned, Sam would have gutted him in an instant if it would have saved his own precious skin. He supposed it was unfair to judge, Sam wasn’t exactly in his right mind…but that’s the point, he kinda was. Without emotion to hold him back, he was thinking as clearly as he ever could, he wasn’t possessed or bewitched; just brutally efficient. And, damn, did that just break his wizened old heart.

“Bobby, are you listening to a single word I’m saying?” Dean accused, jigging slightly on his feet in nervous excitement.

“Yeah, yeah, Gabriel might have internally combusted your brother as payback for his not-death. I’m listening.” Dean’s eyes fixed his own in a glare of defensive hostility.

“What’s with you? You have to care a little about this, I mean, it’s Sam?” Bobby sighed and swilled the dregs of whisky around his glass carelessly.

“I do care; you boys are family to me. And, unlike you, I’m choosing to numb that care with liquor instead of accusing every person we’ve met of attempted murder.” Bobby punctuated his declaration by draining the remains of his glass.

“And that helps how?” Dean questioned but his eyes flickered to the glass with faint longing. He’d remained pretty much sober through the entire incident, something that would signal health in most people. Dean wasn’t most people.

“It doesn’t, it rots my liver and kills my mind. But it’s a damn sight better than biting off my own arm in worry. Sam isn’t dying down there ‘cos some angel had a vendetta. He’s suffering down there ‘cos two archangels had a vendetta and a long time to prove it. I ‘aint expecting no miraculous recovery, and neither should you.” As he let his head drop in resignation, Dean’s answer was barely coherent.

“I’m not expecting it. I just want him conscious.” Bobby pressed a filled whisky glass into Dean’s limp hands; he may as well get rid of his emergency stores.

“I know, kid. I know.” He squeezed Dean’s shoulder with as much reassurance as he could muster.

“Bobby, you’re alive?!”

* * *

 

Sam winced at how weak his voice sounded as he tentatively entered the room. Dean rose immediately to greet him, his face a little haggard but otherwise undamaged, all trace of what Lucifer did, what _he_ did, wiped clean. Sam’s knuckles burned slightly at the memory, feeling the crunch of bone and splitting of skin beneath his hands whilst begging them, willing them to just _stop_ …

“Sam?” Dean’s voice pulled him back into the kitchen; strong and cautious at the same time, not the comforting rasp Sam last heard before…before he…

“Sam!” Bobby spoke louder and firmer, yanking him fully into the present. He eyed Sam with wariness but that was understandable. After all, Sam could recall the feel of his neck snapping as if his own hands had done it. The jolt of power through his arm as Bobby had dropped motionless to the floor, yards away from Sam but still dead because of him.

“How…are you…?” His voice wavered slightly as he searched for words. How could you find enough words in the world to string together an apology for killing the closest thing he had to a father?

“Alive?” Bobby finished for him. Sam only nodded in answer. “I had angelic help. Our boy Cas is alive and kickin’, despite being scattered all over my favourite shirt.”

 _Every molecule of being dissembled under his rage as he tore apart their friend, delighting in the power he felt writhing under his skin even as he cried out in anguish for what that power had done. As Sam had clawed through his own consciousness, screaming to get out as Lucifer cackled and relished in the extermination of the pitiful insects who dared to meddle in divine plans, he had seen Dean. Dean had faced the destruction of his best friend, blasted into oblivion by an indestructible being using his brother as a meatsuit, and yet he stayed. His face revealed not anguish, not despair, but resignation. At that point he had resigned himself to die at the hands of his own brother. And Sam had resigned himself to fight that bastard inside his head even if he had to rip apart every fibre of his being_.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, snapping Sam out of his daze as Dean’s worried eyes gazed into his own.

“How are you feeling?” Was the simple question from Dean’s lips. Sam considered it for a long moment, refusing to let the past pull him back into its alluring misery.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired. What the hell happened?” He looked from Dean to Bobby slowly.

“Well you… jumped into that box. And you’ve been there for a year and a half.” Dean spoke slowly, assessing Sam’s face with worried eyes. Sam kept his face passive, letting Dean’s words wash over him.

“So...how am I out? Was it Cas?” Shifting nervously, Dean avoided his gaze.

“Not exactly.” A bad feeling pooled in Sam’s stomach, he knew that look.

“Dean? What did you do?”

“Right, me and Death…” Dean began. Whatever Sam had been thinking, this was so much worse.

“Death? The horseman!? Please say this isn’t a deal!”

“No, of course not. I learned my lesson. Look, I had leverage.” Sam let out the breath he was holding and counted to ten silently as he considered Dean’s words. He wanted to believe that his rescue was clean cut, but experience was an ever present stain on their tattered history.

“Anything else I should know?” Addressing Bobby more than Dean, Sam pressed for any weakness in Dean’s carefully constructed armour.

“Nope, beer?” Sam chuckled slightly and his eyes steadily filled with tears of genuine relief. Before he could protest, he pulled Dean into a hug and relaxed into the first friendly contact he’d felt for…well a long time.

* * *

 

“Why the hell are you lyin’ to him? Again?” Bobby berated him in hushed tones, casting glances periodically towards the sitting room. Dean mentally prepared himself for a shitstorm of some kind because he knew he fucked up and he wasn’t even going to deny it.

“As far as I’m concerned, we’re good here! Gabriel’s gone, he’s God knows where, and Sam doesn’t need to know that an archangel pulled his soul out of the cage to stop his mindless corpse from killing everyone we know because they piss him off. He doesn’t remember being soulless so why risk jogging his memory?” Dean argued back, flinching at a small rustle from Sam’s general direction. Bobby sighed in resignation and Dean flooded with relief, Bobby wouldn’t risk harming Sam further for the sake of truth.

“A relationship built on lies lasts about as long as they do, boy.” He warned softly.

“Yeah, Bobby. I know.”

* * *

 

The sun drowned in a sea of marmalade after a long and weary afternoon. Sam dozed slightly on the much-welcomed leather upholstery of the Impala, nuzzling into the comforting smell as rose-tinted sleep pulled him into its languid lull. The vibrations of an engine cracked and twisted into a blood-curdling screech, bubbling through Sam’s blood as the warmth of home melted and drained away until only Lucifer’s blood-soaked face occupied his vision. Sam thrashed and screamed and pleaded but his hold was everywhere at once and yet nowhere at all. Dragging white hot claws down through muscle and sinew, reforming Sam’s body into nothing but pain and suffering for all eternity, Lucifer held him down with no effort at all. There was no physical presence that Sam could shake off, nothing for him to fight against, only the burn of doomed immortality ripping him apart until he could scream no longer.

“Woah! Woah! Sam, please calm down!” Something held his arms, pinning him in place. He couldn’t move, and the pain just kept on rushing everywhere. There was nowhere he could go, nothing he could do. Sam cried and thrashed until at last the impossible happened: the force disappeared. His arms were free, the pain was gone, and Sam was lying on tear and sweat-soaked cotton with his hair matted all over his face.

“Dean?” He asked, softly at first, and then more panicked. His heart thumped rapidly in his throat, choking his words as he searched for Dean in what seemed like a bog standard motel room. Then, all of a sudden, Dean was there in his vision.

“Sam? Talk to me, you okay? It was a nightmare, alright. You’re here, you’re with me.” Sam nodded wordlessly, his pulse slowing to a steady beat as he processed his immediate surroundings. There was no danger anymore, the cage was behind him. Small, shaky breaths escaping him with every step, he headed quietly to the bathroom.  Fingers fraught with nervous trembling fumbled with the cold taps, struggling to turn them. Pulling a cold flannel across his face, Sam breathed carefully and waited for the room to stop spinning.

Two towns over, Sam perused the newspaper carefully for hunter bait. Their third hunt couldn’t be far away and Sam was practically itching to throw himself into yet another bloody monster hunt. Nightmarish to most, decapitating a vampire or two was practically a Winchester health spa.

“I have to say, I’ve never seen a Wendigo hunt in daylight like that.” Dean observed. Sam simply hummed in agreement and continued reading. “And that werewolf pack on a half-moon? There’s definitely something odd ‘bout that.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Sam agreed, closing down conversation swiftly before Dean could ask how he was. Their last monster hunts had crossed the borders and fully entered the town of ‘freakin’ weird’ but, according to Bobby, that was commonplace for hunters all across the map. Chop enough monster necks and they had to find the source of all this; Sam had died pulling the world from the brink of annihilation already and, frankly, he deserved a break.

“I’m thinking of getting Cas’s face tattooed across my back as a ‘fuck you’ to heaven, thoughts?” Sam hummed half-heartedly, not paying attention to Dean’s further attempts to pull him into conversation. “Dammit, Sam, talk to me. You’re not fooling me with your strong and silent crap. I though Freddy Krueger was in your melon this morning, man. Scared the shit out of me.”  Sam met his brother’s gaze with resignation.

“Fine, what do you want me to say? That I feel like crap? That I see Lucifer and Michael again every time I sleep? Because it’s true and there’s nothing you can do about it. This is on me.” Even though Dean already knew the truth, Sam could still see the pain in his eyes at the admission. It was no wonder that they lied so much. Dealing with one set of pain was possible. Dealing with two? That was a whole other level. 

“No, I don’t want to push you into talking about hell. When I…when I got back, you respected that I didn’t wanna talk. But that was mine, yours is only gonna get worse.” He knew this, of course. He stayed up into the dead of night, dreading the hour that his fatigued body would pull him into the cage, into their waiting hands. Every night could be the night that the hours get longer and the pain gets sharper, returning his torment to full recollection. And every night could be the one that breaks him.

“I know. But I’m managing it. What I want to know is what happened to you? I thought you were going back to Lisa?” Dean’s jaw clenched as he fixed his eyes resolutely on the road.

“I did.” He stated simply. Sam had often wondered after Dean, whenever Michael decided that torturing Sam was less fun than arguing with his brother about who their father loved more. From the jealously in his voice, Sam had always known it was Lucifer. As he’d lain there, he’d always taken the momentary peace to cast his mind upwards, where he’d wished with every inch of his heart that Dean was having barbeques and talking about the state of the lawn with boring suburban dads, doing _anything_ except wallow in grief. But the stone in Dean’s eyes chilled Sam to the bone.     

“Then why are you hunting? Why did you bring me back, you could have seriously damaged something down there!” 

“It didn’t end well.” Deciding not to push further, Sam attempted another line of enquiry.

“What about Cas, did you see him?” He could almost hear the slamming of Dean’s mental gates as he tensed at the question. Well, it was unfair to expect Sam to bare his feelings and not give a little in return.

“No, he went back to cloud nine to play the harp and do whatever else those guys do.” The blatant deflection deepened Sam’s fear. Dean had replaced his family and friends with grief and liquor, a possibility Sam had pushed to the recesses of his mind because no matter how much pain and suffering the angel’s carved into his broken soul, it was nothing compared to the worry that his brother was miserable.

“So you cut him out? Just like that?” Irritation crept into his voice as he probed for the trigger that would snap Dean out of his stone countenance.

“I gave up hunting, just like you asked.”

“Giving up hunting doesn’t mean giving up one of the best friends you’ve ever had. He could have _helped,_ Dean. Who else aside from him and Bobby could have really understood what you were going through?” Sam was overstepping his mark and he knew it but nothing could curb the raw hurt boiling through his mind as the only sanctuary he’s known for god knows how long unravelled before him.

“I did what you asked, it was torture for me and probably more for them but I promised. I really _tried,_ Sam, but I was a mess and I drank and cried and there was nothing I could do about it. So I left and I did the only thing that could restore some sanity to my world. Cas has a civil war on his hands and monsters are scaring the hell out of hunters everywhere but I’d take this over pretending to fit into some perfect life, anyday.” Deflating like a punctured zeppelin, Sam let his fears go. Dean had a point, forcing a grieving and paranoid hunter on a family was never going to work. Then, another section of Dean’s confession caught his attention.

“Wait, Cas is fighting a civil war?”

* * *

 

The shrill, demanding wail of a phone died with a sudden jolt as Bobby seized the receiver.

“Yeah?” He answered gruffly, gazing longingly at the empty glass he set down on the dresser.

 _“We’ve got a problem.”_ Dean’s surly cadence greeted him through the harsh resonance of the phone. Bobby sighed deeply and settled into his armchair.

“More monsters acting weird?” He questioned, noticing the lack of urgency in Dean’s tone.

 _“Yeah, we had a couple of werewolves on a half moon and a wendigo hunting in a city, in broad daylight. But that’s not it. It’s Sam.”_ This call was later than Bobby expected, he’d thought that Sam must have either recovered miraculously or concealed everything the Winchester way. Maybe he’s hoped for the former, but the latter was more likely. Balancing the phone on his shoulder, he made his way to his emergency stores.

“What’s he doing?”

 _“He stays up all night trying to research any case he can find. And when he finally falls asleep…”_ Dean’s voice trailed off just as Bobby reached the fridge.

“Listen, kid. Sam’s going to have nightmares. Remember your trip to hell? That weren’t no advert for peaceful sleep.” He unscrewed the cap of the first amber bottle he saw.

_“Yeah, I know. It’s just…so much different when you’re seeing it yourself.”_

“You don’t have to remind me.” Bobby brought the glass to his lips and nearly choked as a sickly sweet liquid filled his mouth. “Ack!”

 _“Bobby, are you alright?”_ He spat the disgusting fluid into the sink and considered the bottle.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Turns out some idiot musta sold me syrup instead of scotch. It was probably Rufus.”

 _“That’s rough, man. I’ll call if there’s anything else.”_ Chasing the residue of sugar around his mouth with his tongue, Bobby grumbled his agreement before setting the phone back on the receiver. He took another bottle from the fridge and sniffed tentatively at the contents before pouring it all down the sink.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” He groaned aloud as the kitchen filled with the artificial scent of golden syrup, assaulting his nostrils in a sickly war of the senses. A sour inspection of every bottle he possessed confirmed his suspicions. “I’m gonna kill me a dick angel.” He promised himself darkly. Eyeing the discarded phone, Bobby considered calling Dean but, really, no use crying over spilled syrup. He flicked on the ageing record playing absent mindedly, flopping into the nearest chair he could find.

_Come on shake your body baby do the conga_

_I know you can’t control yourself any longer_

A cacophony of maracas and cheerful piano exploded into his study as Bobby found himself pulled upright by a force beyond any reason.

“What the hell?!” He exclaimed, for too incredulous to even be remotely annoyed. His foot tapped a tentative rhythm on the hardwood floor and Bobby speared it with a glare. “Oh no you don’t.” He warned it. It was too late, the rhythm was _inside_ him, filling his body with ugly convulsions taking the shape of jarring dancing. He scrambled for the phone but knocked it to the floor with a flourish. Spinning gracefully, Bobby muttered curses and exorcisms and just _anything_ that would stop him from doing the goddamn samba.

 _Everybody gather 'round now_  
Let your body feel the heat  
Don't you worry if you can't dance  
Let the music move your feet

His body shook and moved with the irritating rhythm, taking him far away from the phone or record player as he shimmied around the small study, knocking over several precariously piled books.

“Balls!”

* * *

 

Dean watched the rain bombard the loose window. Each drop exploded against the glass, running down his reflection in rivulets of tears. The wind loosed the window pane a fraction more and a freezing spray of water attacked his face.

“God dammit.” He muttered to himself and moved away from the window. He jumped in shock as an ear splitting screech from the bathroom broke the repetitious thrumming of the rain. Almost knocking himself out by barging into the door, sprinting into the bathroom with a scream of “Sam!”. Standing in the bathroom, staring paralysed into the clouded mirror, was Sam. And he was completely bald. A shocked noise forced its way out of Dean’s throat until he was on all floors, choking with laughter. He calmed himself down and struggled to force a passive expression on his face. Then one look at Sam’s distraught expression set him off again, snorting uncontrollably.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Sam shrieked, turning back to the mirror and caressing the shiny surface of his head in utter despair. With a muffled _thump_ , Dean’s head hit the floor and he laughed himself hoarse. After a long while, he finally climbed to his feet, tears running like the rain down his face.

“Did you, erm, use the wrong product on your hair?” Sam fixed him with a look of dismay.

“No, I just woke up and…what did you do?!” Dean gathered a look of pure innocence over his perplexed features.

“What, no! I couldn’t do that, it’s far too perfect. How much credit do you give me?” As Sam stepped closer, the light shifted to shine perfectly off his exposed head, creating a shining halo over his form. Dean couldn’t help himself and melted into laughter once more.

“YOU ARE NOT HELPING!”

Hours later, Dean stood in a bright gas station, trying to catch the eye of the _very_ shapely blonde girl behind the counter. She bit her lip as she concentrated on the crossword in front of her, occasionally tracing a letter or two with a pencil she kept tucked behind her ear. He inconspicuously smoothed his hair back and approached the counter.

“Hey sweetie, what can I getcha?” She asked in a high, thrilling voice.

Dean employed his most charming grin and gave it a shot.

“Gas from pump 3…and your phone number please sweetheart?” She giggled loudly, a sweet and melodic laugh, and moved to the cash register.

“That would be lovely but I think your boyfriend would disapprove.” Dean chuckled good-naturedly and attempted to explain.

“I don’t think he would, that’s just my brother.” She glanced at the impala briefly, before smiling widely at him.

“He has a nice hat. It’s a shame you’re single, you know my brother just broke up with his boyfriend if you’re looking for someone?” Dean politely declined and paid for their gas before leaving in befuddlement.

* * *

 

Sam grumbled and checked his reflection in the wing mirror, as if expecting his hair to miraculously reappear.

“I swear to god, if there’s another damned trickster out there gunning for us then I’m going to ram a stake up his ass.” Dean voiced his third threat of the drive, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as they headed to Sioux Falls.

“If that’s what he’s into.” Sam mumbled. Traumatised as he was by the loss of his beloved hair, the fact that at least 5 girls had tried to set Dean up with one of their male friends was honestly hilarious. Serves him right for hitting on every girl they came across, in Sam’s opinion. “I don’t see why you’re so bothered, honestly. So what if a couple of girls think you’re gay?”

“That’s my point! I’ve been let off easy, when do tricksters _ever_ let us off easy?” Panic coloured Dean’s tone as he increased their speed ever so slightly.

“It might not be a trickster?” Dean glanced at him briefly in disbelief.

“Of course it’s a trickster, who else would make you bald for a prank?” Sam touched the fluffy hat Dean had picked up for two bucks from some gas station.

“Who indeed?” He murmured, more to himself than Dean, as they sped on under the quiet blanket of darkness.

As they approached Bobby’s house, the muffled tune of Rick Astley blared from within, causing him and Dean to exchange worried glances.

“I think Bobby may have opened a hell gate in his living room.” Dean observed with faint perplexity.

“I sincerely hope so.” Sam agreed, drawing closer to the excruciating sound of an 80s one hit wonder. As they entered, Bobby danced into view. Yes, _danced._ Moving with more grace and energy than Sam had ever seen before, Bobby greeted them with a twirl and vigorous jazz hands. Instantly, both Dean and Sam creased with laughter.

“Stop cackling and help me ya idjits, I’ve been trying to call for hours now but I can’t stop this!” Without breaking his laughter, Dean pulled Sam’s hat off. Bobby started but was unable to react further, given that he had just begun to Macarena.

“We have a trickster to summon-“ Dean began gravely but the flutter of wings interrupted his speech. A distinctly not-dead Gabriel leant against the counter, nodding his head happily to the music and grinning around a lollipop. Sam stared, rooted to the floor in dumbfounded shock.

“Gabriel?! What the fuck?!”


	6. Here I Go Again

Rick Astley died with a crackle, a pop, and a sigh of relief from everyone in the room. Well everyone, that is, with the exception of Sam who was slightly too busy gawping at Gabriel to take notice. Bobby’s dancing feet slowed to a sway and then, finally, to a stop.

“Take a picture Sasquatch, it’ll last longer.” Quipped Gabriel with an exaggerated wink in Sam’s direction. Shuddering slightly, Sam turned to his brother.

“There’s a dead archangel in Bobby’s kitchen but you don’t seem surprised.” He said accusingly. Gabriel let out a low whistle.

“Wow, should I be offended ? You’re hiding me from your family, doesn’t that show a bad relationship?” Profanity running through Dean’s mind like sailor hurdles at the Olympics, he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as Sam stared.

“Bite me Gabriel.” He winced at the ammunition he had given the innuendo-filled angel but Gabriel chose to ignore the set up. Dean couldn’t decide whether that was positive growth or really fucking worrying.

“So, big boy, how’s your noggin?” Gabriel asked, sidling much too close to Sam for Dean’s liking. Sam brushed his shiny scalp, stepping away with an irritated glare in Dean’s direction.

“You mean aside from the fact I look like Patrick Stewart?” In spite of himself, Dean snorted.

“Like you could ever look that good.” He muttered.

“Oh, yeah. I forget about these things.” Gabriel pondered Sam’s head and snapped his fingers. Like sped up footage of growing plants, hair began to sprout bizarrely from Sam’s head and grow to lengths that were entirely unnecessary in Dean’s opinion. Sighing deeply, Sam combed through his growing tresses, bliss colouring his features.

“Should we give you some time alone?” Bobby interrupted, breaking Sam from his beautiful reunion. His hands snapped to his sides instantly.

“No…I just, okay. Why’d you do it anyway?” Sam asked Gabriel, newly returned hair falling over his forehead. Tired eyes battled for dominance against his usual wide grin on Gabriel’s pale face.

“Do what? Return from the dead? Give you a haircut?”

“Both I guess.”

“Well you got me Sasquatch, I returned from the dead _specifically_ to give you a haircut. And to make Bobby loosen up a little and learn to have fun.” Bobby returned his smile with a scowl of hatred. Dean, meanwhile, fidgeted nervously. Gabriel was getting a little too close to truths that couldn’t come out right now and he needed to shut this shit down before Sam had a brain meltdown or something.

“What about me then? What’s with the gaydar?” Gabriel gasped in mock innocence.

“I didn’t do anything to you, Dean. Must just be your natural aura.” Dean held his breath and counted to ten. Gabriel simply grinned and continued. “Fine, you seemed lonely after your unfortunate break up so I helped. Not my fault you didn’t go for it.” Dean’s gut twisted as if someone had wedged a large screwdriver into his intestines for fun.

“Don’t talk about that.” He snapped, fighting back uncomfortable memories that so desperately struggled against his lockdown. Lisa’s furious face registered in his consciousness for a fraction of a second before he wrestled the memory back to its labelled drawer. He could deal with that later, he thought to himself. Dick angels first, unpleasant feelings later.

“Cut the crap man, why are you actually doing this. I thought you wanted to be dead? I was cool with that.” Dean kept his glare firmly focused on Gabriel, avoiding his brother like the proverbial plague. He didn’t need to see whatever look Sam was giving him, it was bound to be fifty shades of unpleasant and he already knew he owed his brother an explanation.

“Well, turns out heaven isn’t that fun at the moment so I thought I’d come down here and have a little fun.” He gave Dean an exaggerated wink but his face turned to a waxy pallor as he spoke and he scrambled to grab the counter for support.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, stepping forwards warily as if expecting him to fall. Gabriel stretched a fake smile across his face, holding it even as his eyes faded. Dean had to admire the man’s dedication, although he had to admit it worried him a little.

“I’m golden.” Gabriel snapped, pushing himself back into standing position. “Grubby paws off.” He added, swatting Sam’s cautious offer of support away. Sam looked mortified, shuffling away from him like a dejected puppy.

“So fun involves…?” Dean asked, attempting to steer the conversation back toward normality before an archangel passed out in Bobby’s kitchen. That would be just typical.

“Messing with my favourite boy toys of course. Cassie wants me out of his tousled sex hair so I’m having fun on Earth.”

“There’s nothing better to do on Earth than to mess with us?” Bobby interjected, scowling deeply. Gabriel looked deep in thought for a moment, twirling a cherry red lollipop as he contemplated Bobby.

“Nope.” He replied, sticking the candy back in his mouth. With a flutter of wings, Gabriel was gone.

“You still owe me whiskey.” Bobby muttered darkly into the empty air.

* * *

 

The sticky, artificial scent of cheap candy hung in the stale air like city smog, concealing the usual smell of old books, whiskey and gun smoke that Sam so desperately craved. His sensed clamoured around the kitchen for stimuli, be it sights or sounds or smells, to keep him grounded. That was his job, his one aim at all times. If he drifted, even for a second, then he became victim of his own sadistic mind. The enticing tendrils of masochistic melancholy beckoned, it would be so easy to give and allow himself the luxury of falling apart. But Sam never would, he could never do that to Dean. Of course, with Dean lying to him constantly, finding reasons to hold on was becoming more and more difficult.

“Enough lies, tell me what’s going on now.” Sam demanded, appraising the two men standing before him. Bobby looked pointedly at Dean who seemed as if he were attempting to avoid both their gazes. After a long while, Dean finally looked up and shrugged.

“Not much to tell, Cas found out that his dead brother wasn’t as dead as we thought he was. You were…away.” Was Sam truly so delicate that they couldn’t even mention hell by name around him? It wasn’t Beetlejuice or Candyman, saying the name didn’t mean Sam would be spirited away to the cage; he had no illusions as to where he spent his summer vacation. He continued his questioning, his voice softer, as if to prevent Gabriel from overhearing if he was listening.

“So why not tell me? And why does he look like he’s going to faint every time he moves?”

“Well it seemed like small fish to fry in the face of everything really. We should have told you sooner.” Dean explained, his eyes wide and earnest. Exactly the same innocent look he used to adopt when Bobby caught him playing on the roof. “As for the other thing, I’ve got no clue. His business I suppose.” Sam nodded curtly; it wasn’t in Dean’s nature to ask searching questions unless it was required of him. Even then, he’d still complain about it the whole time.

“So was all your booze screwed or do you have any beer?” Sam rolled his eyes as Dean began his quest for untainted alcohol. Was it too much to ask for that Gabriel had put laxatives in all the beer? Sam struggled to hold back his yawns, his eyes watering from the strain. He hadn’t slept in about 21 hours which, in all honesty was standard Winchester fare. However, the little spots of sleep Sam had been catching here and there had done nothing to rest his body. If anything, he awoke more drained than before like some fucked up never ending cycle. He yawned deeply. Well, maybe a long sleep would help. He bid goodnight to Bobby and Dean, the latter of whom looked at him with considerable concern before replying, and drearily traipsed up the stairs to the small bedroom Bobby kept made up for them. Tiptoeing over the piles of books and assorted occult paraphernalia, Sam made his way to the wooden bed he had long since outgrown; however, he was prevented from flopping onto it by the sudden appearance of a short man sitting cross legged on his bed.

“Now’s not the time Gabriel.” Sam groaned, a yawn escaping him as he spoke. Gabriel cocked his head.

“Awwwwww is the little pork chop all tuckered out?” He mocked in a sickly sweet voice. Sam preoccupied himself with carefully clearing several old scrolls off the end of the bed.

“I’m being serious, I’ve had a long day and I’m tired. So scoot, asshat.” Gabriel feigned offense but moved to sit on the pillow so Sam could sit down. His head lolled back on the wall and he let his eyelids droop, waiting for the whirl of wings that signifies angelic disappearances. Instead, Gabriel started humming an incomprehensible tune and tapping his foot presumably in time. Sam opened one eye to survey the nuisance on his bed. Gabriel’s earlier pallor was much improved and his skin had taken on the tea-stained tint of old parchments but Sam just couldn’t stop noticing the differences from the wily trickster they had first encountered. He remembered being thoroughly taken aback by the brightness of Gabriel’s amber eyes which always sparkled with such mischief and power that, in all honesty, they scared him a little. Now, they’d dulled considerably, the spark had extinguished and turned to smoke. They were eyes that had seen some shit. Sam knew the look; he saw it every day in the mirror.

“Why are you here?” He asked. Gabriel stopped humming but didn’t look at him.

“To check on you.” He replied.

“Why?” Gabriel finally turned to look at him incredulously.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because my brothers went all Guantanamo on your ass?” Well, it rang a bell.

“Yeah, but Death pulled me out of the cage. I don’t see why you’re interested.”  Gabriel’s brow furrowed as he considered Sam.

“Death pulled you out?” He asked quietly.

“I know; Dean did something stupid again to save my life. But apart from the memories, I’m fine. I think we actually got away with this one.” He smiled in spite of himself. Dean using the apocalypse and Death’s ring as leverage left them contract-free; for once, the only negatives of Sam’s resurrection were his own.  Gabriel’s puzzled look cleared and he smiled.

“I didn’t know Death pulled you out, good for you!” He punched Sam’s arm with all the force of a feather pillow. “Dean must have pulled some big favours!” It suddenly occurred to Sam that he was entirely unarmed and alone in a small room with a powerful creature with a deadly sense of humour. And yet, he felt completely relaxed. His hunter’s instinct must be fading.

“But that doesn’t answer my question, why are you here?” Sam asked again. Gabriel shrugged.

“You kinda saved us all when you threw yourself into the belly of hell. It was my family’s crap and you fixed it. Least I could do is check if you’re alright.” Gabriel glanced down as he spoke, fumbling with the pillowcase. Sam felt genuinely touched by his concern, something he rarely received outside of his family and Bobby.

“Thank you.” He said softly. Gabriel looked at him for a moment and then, with the manner of a man coming out a trance, jumped quickly off the bed.

“So are you?”  He asked. “Alright, I mean?” Sam nodded at first. But what was the point in lying to him? He shook his head.

“No…the memories are coming back. More every night. I can’t….go to sleep because then they’ll come.” His confession was barely audible, like he didn’t want Gabriel to hear him.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Gabriel replied simply. Sam tried not to be too surprised at the use of his actual name in the place of some crap nickname.

“What for?”

“I’m just…sorry.” Sam made to lie down and waited for Gabriel to leave. “I can stop the nightmares for tonight, if you want?” After Sam nodded his consent, he reached forwards and softly brushed his fingertips against his forehead. Instantly, Sam’s vision began to blur around the edges. The last thing he saw before succumbing to the darkness was Gabriel wincing in pain and stumbling backwards.

* * *

 

“You’ll never believe this.” Bobby said, throwing a paper into Dean’s lap. He unfurled it and studied the cover.

“Young couple in tragic plane crash.” Dead read aloud. “I don’t understand, this doesn’t exactly strike me as X files.”

“Pilot’s body was found seventeen miles away, flambéed. Girl’s just gone, no body or nothing. Couple of other girls have disappeared recently too.” Dean threw the paper aside.

“Alright, I’ll go check it out.” Dean said, climbing out of the armchair and going to grab his jacket. Bobby raised his eyebrows.

“What about Sam?” Dean glanced at the ceiling.

“Let him sleep, he’s been through enough.” Dean replied, brushing past Bobby on his way to the door.

“He ain’t gonna be happy when he wakes up.” Bobby called after him.

“Oh I know.” Dean muttered to himself. Hopefully, he’d be three states over by then.

 

Dean paced around the light and airy apartment, peering into nooks and crannies for any sign of weird. It was all thoroughly stomach-churningly cute, not a speck of the occult to be found.

“So, Miss Dessertine, I’d just like to ask you a couple of questions about your sister” He turned to address the girl stood timidly in the doorway.

“Will it take long? The cops already came by and I’m tired.”  Silently wishing that Sam was here to pull his usual good cop routine, Dean mustered up his most sympathetic smile.

“I’ll be quick. So what was Penny like?” He asked.

“She was very shy, kept to herself mostly. She wasn’t exactly adventurous.”

“So why would she go up in a two seater in a lightning storm?” The girl brushed her hair behind her ear and crossed her arms, looking slightly more hostile.

“She hated that thing. She only went up for Stan.”

“Who’s Stan?” Who was Stan would be a more accurate question if the roasted body was anything to go by.

“Her boyfriend, they were just starting to get serious. She never should have done it; I should have told her to stay home, told her it wasn’t worth it. We don’t even have a body to bury.” Her eyes glazed over and she pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing slowly. Dean was at a loss in knowing how to comfort her, so he offered a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll find her.” He promised solemnly.

 

Dean tossed his card onto the motel desk, smiling at the burly and heavily tattooed man behind it as he tapped Dean’s details into the system. Checking his phone briefly, Dean’s stomach flipped as he noticed a total of 7 missed calls from Sam and 2 from Bobby.

“Oh god, I’m dead.” He muttered to himself.

“What’s that, buddy?” Mr mullet-beard combo asked him.

“Nothing.” He replied, beaming at him until he looked away. Dean’s phone began to vibrate in his hand and a nervous glance revealed Bobby’s name on the caller ID. Taking his room key, Dean made his way to his room slowly, holding the buzzing phone at arms-length. The moment the door closed behind him, he flipped the phone open and answered.

“How’s Sam?”

“Sam _is furious, thanks for asking.”_ Sam’s irate voice answered. All thoughts in Dean’s mind flew away like startled birds and left him with a long line of static. “ _Dean? Are you still there?”_ Dean gulped and answered.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“ _Where is that exactly?”_ Dean hummed for a while. He couldn’t deny that having Sam would greatly help with the case, particularly when it came to research, but their bad time on the road was an ever present stain of doubt on Dean’s mind.

“How did you sleep?”

 _“Well but don’t change the subject. I know you’re on a hunt but Bobby won’t tell me where, he’s cleared off somewhere.”_ Dean sighed deeply, cursing his determined brother with eternal baldness.

“Portland, cute little spot called ‘Roadside Roy’s’, room 32.”

“ _I’ll be there soon.”_ Dean snapped the phone shut with frustration. Still, at least it was good to hunt with sympathetic Sam again rather than Megatron. While Sam was coming, he might as well research the other two disappearances. He flopped onto the bed, pulling Sam’s laptop toward him. He was probably dead in more ways than one when Sam realised it was missing.

* * *

 

Sam pulled into the motel parking lot with ease, parking next to the Impala which was one of only 3 cars present; must be a popular place. He rapped on the door labelled ‘32’ and waited for his brother to answer so he could punch him in his smug overprotective face. The door opened very slightly and Dean’s eye peered through the gap.

“Are you going to hit me?” He asked, using the door as protection. Sam pushed his way into the room wordlessly. Dean closed the door and turned to face him, wearing his fed suit and looking very wary, as if waiting for Sam to yell at him.

“No, I’m not. I understand why you did it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not pissed as hell. I’m not made of glass Dean, I _realise_ how fucked up I am but I’m not ill! This isn’t going to get better. The way I’m feeling, I think it’s going to get worse. So stop treating me like I’m 5 and just let me deal with it.” After a long moment of silence, Dean nodded.

“Okay, I get it. But you need to be more honest with how you’re feeling. Don’t say you’re fine when I can hear you yelling in your sleep.” Sam was taken aback slightly by the hypocrisy of the request, considering how Dean had blatantly lied about remembering hell for going on 6 months. But Dean probably knew from experience how well bottling it up panned out, so Sam nodded and turned away.

“So there’s my laptop.” He observed and heard Dean splutter behind him. Settling on the only bed, he took his laptop and perused the open pages.  “Are these the missing girls?”

“Yep.” Dean answered, walking over to point out aspects of the church group page. “These two were members of pretty much every church group you can think of. Bake sales, promise ring groups, Sunday school volunteers, church choir…if it’s in the name of Jesus, they did it.”

“Someone’s targeting members of the same church?” Sam asked. Dean shook his head.

“Nope, third girl wasn’t even Christian. But I have another theory- Penny’s diary.” He brandished a bright pink notebook in front of Sam’s face.

“Did you steal that from her room?” Dean made a face at Sam and began to read in a husky tone. “I’ve decided I’m going to give Stan my most precious gift.” Sam shuddered.

“That sounded super creepy coming from your mouth. So, all these girls were virgins?” Dean snapped the diary shut and discarded it.

“That’s what I figure.” Sam turned back to his laptop and searched for occult links to virgins.

“So who’d go after virgins? Witches or pagan gods maybe?” He asked; Dean shrugged in response.

“Beats me, I prefer ladies with experience.” A loud guitar riff sounded through the room as Dean grabbed his phone. He listened for a while before speaking.

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.” He flipped the phone shut and grabbed his suit jacket.

“Put your fed suit on and grab your badge, a girl’s been attacked in a church parking lot.”

 

Sunlight filtered through the hospital windows, glaring in Sam’s eyes as he fumbled with a small notebook in his hand. A small girl lay in the hospital bed, looking thoroughly shaken as she reverently recounted her experience to Dean.

“I swear, it was like a giant bat! All I saw were these huge wings and….you think I’m making this up, right? That’s what the cops said.”

“Well, we’re not the cops.” Sam said softly, stepping closer to her.

“It came right at me, that’s how I got these!” She pulled her hospital gown forward, showing three long jagged gashes across her back and shoulders, the surrounding skin coloured with red and blue splotches. The closest Sam had seen were werewolf scratches, but they were never this large.

“So it attacked? And then what happened?” Sam asked as she settled back on the bed.

“I don’t know, everything went dark and I must have passed out. When I woke up, it was gone.”  Large bat creatures and missing virgins? Dean looked just as confused as Sam felt.

“Is there anything else you can think of?” Sam asked, desperately hoping for further clues. “Even if it doesn’t seem important?” She looked deep in thought for a while before answering.

“Well, my ring is gone. It could have fallen off but I didn’t see it anywhere, that thing could have stolen it. It was gold, a promise ring.” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“It stole your purity ring? I’m…not trying to judge anyone here Melissa, believe me I can’t, but should you really have been wearing that.” He asked her and Sam looked at him incredulously. Stealing diaries and invading privacy never seemed to be his brother’s style.

“Well- Matt Barne didn’t count!” She snapped indignantly.

As they left the hotel, Sam couldn’t help but puzzle over their situation.

“So if this is the same thing that’s kidnapping virgins, why did it take her promise ring and leave her behind?” He asked Dean.

“Because being easy protects you from all supernatural beings?” Dean suggested. Sam ignored him.

“So what sort of thing likes virgins and gold?” He pondered aloud.

“P. Diddy?” Sam chuckled to himself.

“You know Dean, it’s comforting.” He said, leaning on the warm roof of the impala.

“What is?”

“I spent a year in Lucifer’s cage, came back and you’re still not funny.” He commented, climbing into the passenger seat. The Impala lowered as Dean got in next to him.

“Shut up bitch, I’m hilarious.” He retorted, turning the keys in the engine. Motörhead blared from the speakers, almost shattering Sam’s eardrums with a cacophony of guitar and drums. Dean smiled and turned the volume up further.

* * *

 

Back at the motel room, Dean paced helpfully as Sam searched cyberspace for a method to the absolute madness they were wrapped up in. Demonic army, Lucifer throwing a tantrum, fucking monsters acting weird, he just wanted a break for once.

“This isn’t possible.” Sam declared from across the room. Great, Dean thought, another dollop of not possible.

“Try me.” He replied.

“I googled ‘wings’, ‘gold’, ‘claws’, and ‘stealing virgins’ and it all took me  to World of Warcraft fansites. Get this: dragons.” Sam continued, his voice full of disbelief. Dean sighed and raked his hands down his face. Seriously, he really needed that break.

“It’s been a strange year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had to split this chapter up due to its ever growing length. There will be heavy links with the canon in places but I am aiming for an original story.  
> 


	7. Burnin' For You

Apparently, the world had turned batshit crazy while Sam was in hell. Currently, Dean was ringing Bobby to see if dragons were real like a 3 year old after a bedtime story. Remind him, when did his life get so weird? Ah yes, from the moment he was born. Dean tossed his phone onto the bed and sighed deeply.

“Bobby say anything?” Sam asked, picking up John’s journal and rifling through the worn pages.

“He thinks we’re morons but he’ll check it up for us.” He noticed what Sam was doing. “Dude, I’m pretty sure Dad never wrote anything in there. I’d remember reading Beowulf.” Sam hummed but paused on a particular page, running his fingers over one entry. ‘Pack of three skinwalkers’ it said, with no elaboration; John was a man of simple communication. Vague, hazy memories of a German Shepard swam in Sam’s vision and, seconds later, the image of an unfamiliar man.

“Hey, did we hunt a skinwalker lately?” He asked. Dean regarded him with befuddlement.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, why?” Sam struggled to call any further memories to mind, they simply lingered in the back of his consciousness, mocking him for his frustration.

“I don’t know, déjà vu or something. Are you sure?” Dean shook his head.

“Positive.  You have to remember, you’re eggs a little scrambled right now. Give it time.” His memories of hell seemed so clear and vivid, always coming through whether he wanted them or not. This dog, however, hung in his mind like a drunken memory after a rancid hangover.

“Yeah, but these memories seem different.” He began. “No, sorry never mind.”

“You alright?” Dean asked and Sam nodded in assent. “So how do we kill a dragon?”

“Challenge it to a game of riddles?” Sam suggested lightly.

“I feel like I just caught the nerd coming off you right now.” Dean replied in disgust.

“Says the guy who references Star Trek on a regular basis.” Sam muttered. Looking up sharply, Dean opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by the obnoxious tune of his phone demanding attention. With a glance at the display, Dean answered.

“Hold on Bobby, I’m putting you on speaker.”

_“Has it occurred to either of you idjits that this might be that angel yanking our chain?”_

“It’s not him.” Sam answered decisively, earning him a suspicious stare from his brother.

 _“What makes you the expert?”_ Ideas fluttered, half formed, through Sam’s mind as he rapidly back-pedalled under the scrutiny. How can you explain to your brother and surrogate father that you somehow trust an ex-bloodthirsty monster? Especially when even you don’t fully understand why. He eventually caught one.

“He doesn’t have the power for that.” He explained earnestly.

“He dropped us in TV land and put you in Groundhog Day.” Dean countered slowly, as though Sam had trouble understanding.

“That was before he fought Lucifer. Haven’t you guys noticed how…off he is? He almost collapsed giving me hair for god’s sake.”

“Don’t know, don’t particularly care. Still, I guess we can rule him out. You got any other theories?”

_“One, Dr Visyak, Medieval studies S.F.U.”_

“Alright, I’ll go to San Francisco, figure out how to kill these things. Thanks Bobby.” There was no reply. “Well guess he’s gone. You see if you can figure out where these things camp out.” Dean grabbed his bag and left the room. The rumble of the Impala’s engine emanated through the windows a moment later, slowly growing more distant before it completely disappeared, lost in the urban symphony. Sam sat alone, astounded. This was the first time he’d been left unattended since he got back and he was a little unsure on what to do with himself. For the first time, Dean was treating him like they were just on a normal hunt, well ‘normal’ was the wrong word, and not like he was going to fall apart at the slightest push. Like a child being left alone without a babysitter, he was thrilled but, deep down, a little freaked out. What if, this time, the cage didn’t go away when he woke? The thoughts were beginning to manifest, just little objects out of place here and there, a scalpel were a pen should be, blood dripping from mould in the corner, but Sam was _handling it._ That’s what he told himself, gripping his head firmly and holding it between his knees.

“It’s not real.” He whispered aloud. “You know this, you _know._ ” Silence fell across the room; there were no more car horns or the shrill voices of parents or the laughter of children, just Sam alone in the deafening silence, muttering his mantra over and over just waiting for it to sink in. He wasn’t broken, he wasn’t, he was capable of being alone in a room for _two minutes_. Research, dragons, research and dragons. The two chased each other around his mind in an endless loop, driving him to take his laptop with trembling fingers.

“You’re not there anymore. Right now, you need to research the case.” Words mingled together into illegible characters, dancing outside of his understanding and whizzing upwards as he scrolled desperately down the page. “Please, not now.” He pleaded with his own fractured mind, bargaining with his consciousness for a moment’s relief, but the room became smaller with every laboured breath he took. Taking refuge between the bed and the wall, Sam curled his arms around his knees and fell into hell’s waiting embrace.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you let our only heavy hitter swan off to do whatever it is you cloud hoppers do.”

Crowley’s complaint was punctuated by the harsh snap of bone as he rooted through the chest of an alpha skinwalker. It had proved useless in interrogation so far, merely snarling as Crowley tore it apart. Now however, yelps and screams reverberated off the tiled walls as he snapped the creature’s rips with brutal precision.

“I can’t force him to fight for us.” Crowley huffed in amusement, tasting the blood on his finger with a grimace.

“Disgusting. Bring your flighty brother to me; I’m sure I can make a deal with him.” Castiel turned to the demon sharply, ignoring the howls of pain coming from their subject.

“Don’t you dare.” He threatened, keeping his voice low and dangerous. Crowley sheathed his knife inside the creature’s leg.

“Oh, is he off limits too? I don’t think Raphael will see it the same way. You’re weakened by your sentiment and I’m not in the game of leaving my delicate assets in the hands of failures. The moment your precious hunters or big brother become more trouble than they’re worth, my boys and I take them off the board.” Castiel seized his lapels and hurled him against the wall, glaring deep into his soulless eyes.

“You will never touch them, abomination.” He ordered, letting him fall to the ground. Crowley spluttered, brushing the dust off his jacket and he climbed back to his feet.

“You have got to stop doing that, it’s just not professional.” Castiel ignored him, turning back to the gagged skinwalker. Before he could say anything, Sam’s voice rang through his head.

“Cas? You there? I’m back so…if you’ve got a minute?”

“I have to go.” Castiel said, striding away from the exasperated demon.

“But we’re just getting to the juicy bits!” Crowley called after him. Another scream followed by a frustrated curse of “bloody angels” followed Castiel as he vanished.

Sam started as Castiel appeared in front of him, sweaty and disheveled hair falling in front of his face. The last time Castiel had laid eyes on the taller Winchester, his look had been cold and calculating, more like a hawk than any human he’d ever seen or, indeed, angel. The sheer strength and determination that had dictated his features were something to be feared, not trifled with. Without a soul, Sam was everything he could have been if the creatures molding his path had been successful, what Azazel and Lucifer and the angels _could_ have created, and why Castiel fought so hard against the script that others had dictated. He couldn’t see the hope and life stripped away from such good and honest men and replaced with emptiness and hatred. The Sam stood before him was very different from their last encounter. His eyes darted warily around Castiel, never seeming to land on him for very long. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, collecting a sticky mass of hair across his forehead. Streaks of blood were slowly drying on his jaw but Castiel detected no facial injury. He slowly surveyed Sam for any physical harm, concern growing, and eventually came to notice a steady drip of blood falling from his clenched fist. Castiel stepped forwards and felt the crunch of broken glass from beneath his feet, evidently from the shattered lamp lying two feet away. To any outsider, this would indicate a recent fight but the only conflict in this room was the internal war that Sam was so desperately fighting and so clearly losing. Sam’s erratic eyes finally came to rest on Castiel, his feeble features straining to hold a weary half-smile.

“It’s good to see you alive, buddy.” He said, voice breaking as he stumbled forwards to pull Castiel into a hug, his whole body warm and shaking. Castiel tentatively placed his hands on Sam’s back and sent ribbons of grace through his fingertips, seeking out the gash across Sam’s palm and knitting the skin. The tremors slowly subsided. Sam pulled away, relief etched upon his haggard face.

“It’s good to see you whole again.” Castiel replied, scrunching his nose a little in confusion. Sam had seen him plenty of times during his resurrection; this was hardly the reaction he expected. “Do you not remember before?” Sam paled and shuddered.

“Yeah, I remember killing you, Cas. Wait, what do you mean whole?” Castiel cocked his head in bewilderment.

“With your soul of course.”

“Oh…of course. Because I was wandering around without a soul.” Cas nodded, pleased at the realisation. “But I’m a bit fuzzy on the details; could you maybe explain them to me?”

* * *

 

Dean whistled as he pulled into the charming motel’s parking lot, taking the small cloth parcel from the passenger seat. He probably owed Dr Visyak a large case of very fancy wine of whatever it was that rich people with dragon-killing swords in their basements drank.

“Hey Sam, I got a weapon that can slay a dragon.” He called through the door, rapping on it with his knuckles. A passing couple gave him very strange looks but he smiled widely at them and continued to knock. Finally, Sam opened the door, coffee in hand and wincing at Dean’s yelling.

“Did you have a little party while I was gone?” Dean asked, striding through the doorway and throwing his bag onto the bed.

“Nope, I’m just a little tired. Let’s see Excalibur then.” Dean pulled the stunted sword out of its parcel with a flourish, waving the melted tip in front of Sam’s face.

“You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Not at all, Sammy. I left with one quarter of a priceless artifact and a promise to never ever contact Dr Visyak again as long as I live.”

“That seems fair. But what are we supposed to do with this, sharpen its toenails?” Sam eyed the offending weapon with distaste. Dean gave the sword a few experimental jabs into thin air.

“It’ll do, we just have to get closer. You found out where they’re holed up?” Sam gestured to a map on the desk.

“Sewer systems I think, I mean there are no caves around, right? So they’ve gotta be somewhere else cold and dark. Two of the disappearances happened within a mile of here-“ he pointed out an asterisk on the map. “So I say we start there and work our way around.”

“Super. Let us begin our valiant quest, young squire.” Dean mocked in a terrible English accent, brandishing the sword proudly.

 

Questing, as it turned out, was not as fun as it seemed. Rather than wandering through lush forests or scaling treacherous mountains to slay the dragons, they were traipsing through miles of narrow, dank sewers. Their flashlights helped with the darkness but nothing could stop the putrid smell from assaulting Dean’s nostrils as he avoided shining the light at anything for two long. Down here, ignorance truly was bliss.

“Jeez, every time I get used to a smell, it gets a new flavour. Why can’t dragons live in nice mansions on the beach?” Sam ignored his complaints and carried on down the tunnel, shining his light around the walls as it suddenly opened up into a small, square chamber which branched off into two further tunnels. A faint shine caught Dean’s eye.

“What is that?” Dean took a closer look at the source of the glimmer. “Holy mother of-“ He began, couching to assess the glittering pile. A true dragon hoard of gold lay unattended on the floor, sparkling under Dean’s light as he rummaged through the masses of precious objects, from jewellery to watches to what looked like pure nuggets of the stuff.

“X marks the spot. Maybe there are dragons here.” He concluded, stuffing handfuls of wealth into his pockets because, hey, hustling and credit card scams weren’t the most reliable forms of income in the world.

“Really Dean? Not now, come look at this.” Sam was examining a leather-bound tome on a very black magic-looking alter. The yellowed pages crisped as Sam turned them, sporting a whole load of indecipherable symbols.

“Seems a bit witchy for giant lizards.” Dean observed. Distant screams echoed from somewhere beyond the two tunnels, almost making Sam drop the book as they both started.

“You go left I’ll take the right?” Dean asked. Sam nodded and readied his shotgun, peering into the left tunnel. Before he could walk off, Dean pulled him back. “Wait, who gets the sword?”  

“You keep it. If I find dragons, I’ll yell.” And with that, Sam continued on down the tunnel, leaving Dean in the chamber.

“Smartass.” Dean muttered under his breath as he proceeded down the right tunnel. The sewers had fallen quiet; only the distant trickle of something that probably wasn’t water and Dean’s muffled footsteps breaking the silence as he cautiously made his way towards the source of the scream.  The passage eventually opened up into a large cavern, a metal walkway stretching to the opposite side. Dean shone the light around the cavern for any signs of dragons before climbing onto the bridge, grasping the unsteady rail. Something closed around his calf. Dean yelped and leaped forwards, unsheathing the sword in panic. Spinning around wildly, he caught sight of 3 terrified young girls scrabbling at a metal grate just beneath the walkway. He sighed deeply with relief, tucking the sword away and crouching.

“It’s alright, I’m here to help. You have to stay quiet, I know it sounds crazy but you’ve been kidnapped by dragons.”

“Yeah, no shit.” One of the girls replied angrily, her arms around another. The other girl sobbed desperately, cradling her right arm. “They’re huge fucking lizard things with wings.” Dean blinked for a moment, thoroughly taken aback. He examined the grate, looking for any form of latch but it was welded shut.

“I’ll get this open soon, don’t worry.” He promised.

“He’ll be coming back soon!” The third girl whispered frantically, just as a roar hurtled down the tunnel.

“Sam!”

* * *

 

Sam fell back against the hard, slippery wall, his eye burning from the punch. The suited man, or more like the oddest dragon he’d ever seen, advanced on him, fist raised for another strike. Sam rose to his feet, grabbing his dropped weapon, and fired a shotgun round right through the creature’s chest. He glanced at the wound and snarled, baring his teeth which rapidly lengthened until they surpassed the length of Sam’s fingers. His face twisted and contorted, mouth growing to a snout filled with lethally sharpened canines, dripping saliva and menace. Human eyes disappeared and, in their place, left huge burnt orange eyes as his pupils narrowed to reptilian slits. The sickening sound of skin and clothes splitting echoed through the tunnel as pointed umber scales grew through his skin and tore through his clothes. He reared up, growing until he towered over Sam like a tidal wave of claws and fangs. Huge black wings unfurled from his back, scraping the confining tunnel walls and ripping the remaining fabric from the creature’s form. Sam stood, motionless with horror, as the behemoth surged forwards to land back on its front legs, fangs inches from his face. Its breath reeked of smoke and death, the heat covering Sam’s face with moisture. He couldn’t help but wonder how, when he had imagined his death, he’d never dreamed that he’d die on the wrong end of an honest to god _dragon._ Growls rumbling through his bones, Sam closed his eyes and reflexively inched backwards, though he knew there was truly no way to escape.

“HEY YOU! THAT’S RIGHT, I’M TALKING TO THE OVERGROWN LIZARD!” Dean’s voice was like a breath of oxygen to starved lungs. Well, more like the appearance of a weaker gazelle to a zebra running from a lion. “I’VE SEEN FRAT BOYS LIGHTING THEIR FARTS PRODUCE BETTER FLAMES THAN YOU!” The heat suddenly disappeared from Sam’s face as the dragon snapped its ugly head around, presumably to face Dean, guttural snarls intensifying as it advanced. Sam tried to spot Dean behind the mass of scales but failed. “COME AT ME! I’LL KICK YOUR UGLY ASS RIGHT BACK TO MORDOR YOU SON OF A BITCH!” The dragon turned fully, its tail lashing out and catching Sam full in the chest, slamming him against the tunnel wall and knocking the wind out of his chest. He blinked spots out of his vision and struggled to prop himself upright. A colossal roar nearly burst his eardrums and all he could make out were Dean’s incomprehensible yells and rushed footsteps before the tunnel burned with searing heat and the creature took off after his brother. Leaning heavily against the wall for support, he hoisted himself back to standing. Pain ripped through his right shoulder and he cradled it tentatively, feeling the joint which was much lower in his arm than it should be. Roars grew more distant by the second; Sam swallowed his nausea and, with one last worried look after his brother, he turned and ran back down the tunnel.

* * *

 

“Crap, crap, crap.” Dean yelled as he sprinted through the narrow maze of sewers, heat searing his back as the infernal creature _breathed fire_ at him. Suddenly, they were back in the dragon’s lair. Shrill screams from the trapped women mingled with the roars as Dean stumbled backwards, keeping his eyes on the advancing monster. He whipped out the broken sword, cringing with how small it seemed when faced with a real life dragon. The creature paused, eyes fixed on the tiny weapon. Then, it threw back its colossal head and _laughed;_  harsh, choking coughs bouncing around the chamber. Dean glared and lunged forwards but the dragon swept him aside with a swipe of its claws. He slammed onto the metal grates, blood soaking through the right arm of his jacket. Pure adrenaline pumped through his veins, he clambered upwards, searching for the sword. His heart fell through the bottom of his stomach as he spied it, lying in the cage. Flames seared above him and he curled into a ball, letting them wash over his back. The moment the sound of fire dissipated, Dean ripped his burning jacket from his back, wincing as coagulated blood tore free from his wounds. Even with the jacket gone, his skin continued to burn. He touched his back, wincing in pain as he felt blisters beneath his shirt. Dragons, he concluded, fucking _sucked._  

“Dean!” _Oh God no, Sammy_ was Dean’s immediate thought as he heard Sam’s voice calling him. The dragon turned away from Dean. Rage and protective instinct and maybe a little bit of sheer stupidity coursing through him, Dean plunged his hand through the grate, clamoring for the sword. The grate was suddenly flung open and, before Dean could comprehend what was happening, one of the girls climbed out, screaming as she lept onto the walkway, and plunged the sword into the creature’s side. It shrieked and twisted as it fell, bringing the bridge down onto the cages below. Sam, Dean and the 3 women stood motionless as the dust settled, their heavy breaths loud in the quiet air.

 

Police sirens whirred in the night, filling the dark sky with flashes of red and blue. Sam and Dean watched from a nearby as the police wrapped the victims in blankets and carted the body of the dragon, thankfully shrunk back into a human, away. The papers would report the safe return of kidnap victims and the death of the disgusting man responsible and then would never reference the incident again. The girls would have to live with this shit forever, lying about what happened so they weren’t carted away and slapped on three different prescriptions.

“How are we going to tell the doctor that we lost her priceless sword to the cops?” Sam asked him, a tired grin stretching across his battered face. Sam’s eye was swollen and the skin was tinged black, grazes peppering his cheeks from the rough scales. His shoulder was back in place and, thankfully, there were no signs of a fracture. Dean’s back still felt like fire was trapped under his skin but at least his arm was finally scabbing over. The pain was intense but he was dealing the Winchester way: with a full bottle of whisky. His eyes followed one of the girls as she waved the cops away from her, still holding determinedly onto the remains of the sword, as if relinquishing it would mean the end of the world. As if feeling his gaze, her head turned towards him and she smiled. Dean smiled back, warmth that had nothing to do with dragonfire flooding through him. This was always the best part of a hunt. They may be bruised and beaten, but at least they could see the people they’d saved, shaken and upset but _alive._

“It’s not something you see every day.” Dean commented. Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. “One of the victims stabbing the monster you’re hunting. Especially a freakin’ _dragon._ ” Sam chuckled.

“Her name was Sarah.” Sam reminded him.

“Yeah. She should consider becoming a hunter. Hell of a first monster kill.” Nodding in agreement, Sam turned away.

“Hey, Dean?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

“’I’ve seen frat boys lighting their farts produce better flames than you?’” Dean choked on his whiskey.

“Well, you need to insult their pride, right? Like the riddles.” He explained Sam simply stared at him, incredulously.

“I told you I caught the nerd.”

* * *

 

 

“Stop moving! It’ll only make this more difficult!”

“And it’s not alrea-OUCH!” Dean squirmed as Sam rubbed burn paste onto his ruined back, spewing a variety of colourful curses whenever Sam touched a particularly sore area.

“I’m nearly done.” Sam reassured him, scooping out a large handful of the paste and slathering it all over the blistered skin, heat radiating from Dean like a sauna. His hands trembled slightly as the levee in his mind broke, flooding images of his own burned and ruined skin through his vision. He breathed slowly, attempting to the blink the images away.

“Never speak of this again.” Dean warned, bringing Sam back into the room. His reply was cut off by the familiar beating of wings. They both froze, Dean’s muscles stiffening beneath his hands. There were a few moments of silence, everyone waiting for someone to speak first.

“Hello Dean.” Whatever Sam had been expecting, it wasn’t for the squeakiest, most high pitched voice he’d ever heard in his life to break through the tension like chipmunks on helium. He spun around to see a dumbfounded Cas clutching his throat, in complete disbelief of the sound that had escaped him. A choked sound of surprise escaped Sam despite his best efforts to hold it back as the absurdity of the situation settled over him.

“What’s happening?” Cas asked in clear distress, his voice still high and shrill. And that was the last straw. Sam doubled over, laughing so hard that his ribs physical ached. One more look at Cas’s expression set him off again, tears streaming from his eyes as laughter sprung uncontained from his very soul. There was a loud _thump_ as Dean fell off the bed, creasing up with laughter. Every word Cas said to make sense of the situation only increased the volume of their laughter.

“I need some air.” Sam finally declared when he had calmed enough to speak. Rushing outside, an even more disturbing sight greeted him. He instantly ran back inside the motel, too flustered to articulate properly, simply gesturing wildly to the parking lot as another wave of laughter took hold. Wordlessly, Cas moved his glowing palm over Dean’s exposed back, leaving smooth skin where he touched. Dean pulled his shirt back on and, after squeezing Cas’s shoulder in thanks, rushed outside to see what Sam was fussing over.

“Baby no…” Dean whispered, walking over to his beloved car. Where the Impala had been parked, now sat a tiny bright pink smart car. It had _eyelashes_.Dean fell to his knees, touching the curved bonnet with utter disgust.

“Hey, dude! Nice ride!” Some sniggering jackass called as he walked by.

“That’s not his car.” Cas squeaked at him, still sounding as though he were responsible from a worldwide helium shortage. The man stared at them, completely aghast, before turning slowly and briskly walking away. Another ripple of laughter forced its way up from his stomach and Sam simply laughed until he could no longer stand, collapsing in the doorway on their room. Passers-by would probably be very weirded out by the sight of a tough-looking guy in a leather jacket crying next to a car, a tax accountant speaking to himself in a cartoon baby voice and a fully grown man lying on the floor crying with laughter but Sam simply didn’t care.

“Yoohoo! Daddy’s home!” A familiar voice called from within the room. Dean jumped up and stepped over Sam to storm into the room.

“Gabriel you son of a bitch! Fix it. Now.” Sam climbed to his feet and quickly rushed in to prevent Dean from ripping Gabriel apart.

“Fix what?” Gabriel asked innocently, fluttering his eyelashes. “Your car or your boyfriend?”

“Both.” Dean growled threateningly.

“You got it, chief.” Gabriel snapped his fingers and the pink atrocity disappeared, replaced by Dean’s beloved Impala.

“I hope no one saw that.” Sam commented but, to his relief, there appeared to be no-one around. Dean ran to embrace his baby, laying over the bonnet and tenderly stroking the curves of the headlights.

“Do those two need time alone? You know I could turn that car human, if that’s what he wants?

“God no.” Sam said, shuddering. “This has got to stop, Gabriel. We can’t hunt if we’re looking over our shoulders all the time expecting some form of prank.” Gabriel pouted.

“Urgh FINE! But I have conditions, sasquatch and you’re probably not gonna like ‘em.” Sam grimaced.

“What are the conditions?” He asked, dreading the answer. Gabriel smiled wickedly.

“I will stop bothering you IF you come on a day out with me. Oh and I’m just gonna go prank some other suckers, you do realise that?”

“Dude, I’m not going on a date with you.” Sam replied with revulsion.

“No one said anything about a date. A fun day out at a carnival or something. You need to have FUN, bottling up your feelings ain’t gonna help your melon.” Sam sighed deeply but after a long moment of consideration, he decided he had no other choice.

“Fine.” He agreed reluctantly. “But you can’t kill anyone. Prank assholes all you want but _non-lethally._ ” Gabriel stuck his tongue out like a petulant five-year-old.

“You’re no fun, but alright. Get sleep, I’m not having you all tired and boring tomorrow.” With a wink, Gabriel vanished. Dean walked back in, his face the perfect picture of contentment.

“Baby’s alright and Cas has gone. Turns out I addressed a couple of my curses to god and he heard me. Not sure if that’s creepy or helpful. Anyway, what did that car-abusing dick want?” Sam turned towards him slowly, not sure how to break the news.

“He wanted me to go on a day trip with him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is likely that this will be my last chapter for a while as my exams are coming up but after those, I will be able to write as much as I like. Please review with any praise or criticism, it really does help.  
> 


	8. Crazy Train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise that it's been ages since my last update and to that I can only say...'what's that in the sky?!' and run in the other direction. Thank you all for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy this.

The sky bloomed in an array of soft autumnal colours like a bouquet of marigolds, casting a subdued haze over the scrapyard as creatures of the day settled down for a night's rest. Sunset, as any angel who has observed the Earth as long as Gabriel will tell you, exists in a temporary suspension of reality. The frenzied activity of day dies down but before the more sinister realms of darkness takes over, there is a small window of time that simply exists in the middle. Sunset is a paradise for the in-between and, incidentally, Gabriel's favourite time of day.

 

He knocked on Bobby's door with apprehension, wincing at the loud noise. He was an archangel, one of the most powerful beings in existence, he'd seen civilisations rise and fall and he was _not_ nervous. Angels got sweaty palms and dry mouths all the time. Gabriel could distinguish muffled voices forming a half-hearted argument.

“Who the hell is calling?” Bobby grumbled.

“Maybe it's your girlfriend here to arrest you?” Dean's smart mouth was going to place him on the receiving end of Bobby's shotgun one day, Gabriel mused to himself.

“Bite me, smartass.”

“Gross, I'll pass. You'd be like tough old leather.” A chain of thuds and a small exclamation of pain followed this comment. Then, a third set of footsteps began to grow louder as someone approached the door.

“Oh, don't mind me, I'll just answer it then shall I?” The door swung open to reveal a very dishevelled-looking Sam, his usually immaculate hair mussed past the point of fashionable, dressed in tattered jeans and fading flannel. His under-eye circles had darkened since Gabriel last saw him, if he kept this up he was going to resemble a panda before long. At this point, it looked like Sam went ten rounds with Rocky Balboa, provided he only aimed for the eyes.

“And look what's behind door number 3!” Gabriel mocked, throwing in some jazz hands for good measure.

“Oh...uhhhhh.” Sam ran his fingers through his hair, only succeeding in messing it further.

“Good to see you're as eloquent as always. So...am I late? Am I early? You could have at least dressed for the occasion.” Before Sam could reply, Dean and Bobby joined the scene.

“What the fuck are you doing- wait are those leather pants?” Gabriel slapped his leather-clad thigh with a grin.

“You betcha. Good to see you Dean-o, I'm here to take your brother for a super fun night out!” The three hunters regarded him, completely dumbstruck. Seriously, he did make a deal and he expected to keep it, they could at least act a little less shocked. Finally, Bobby spoke.

“Like hell, you've tried to kill him. There are God knows how many demons and angels out there jonesing for him so how do we know you're not just gonna sell him to the highest bidder.”

“Oh gee Bobby thanks for the vote of confidence. What if I pinky swear not to pimp him to Raphael?” This comment, unsurprisingly, earned him 3 steely glares. “C'mon guys! What about all the great stuff I've done for you?” He fixed Dean with a pointed stare, one that clearly said 'like shoving your brother's soul back where it belongs which, for some reason, you won't tell him'. Well at least he _hoped_ Dean understood, the man had his dense moments.

“Alright, I'll go with you.” Sam said, stepping out from behind the other two men to join Gabriel.

“Well I did promise; I go out with you and the pranking stops right?”

“Please, Sam, we barely know each other. I'm just offering a night out.” Gabriel teased with a wink, knowing he was pushing his luck beyond belief. Sam's brow lowered as his features arranged into something that could only ever be described as a 'bitch face'. “Yeah, alright, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to be smote into oblivion.”

“Can we at least know where you're going?” Dean asked, not taking his worried eyes off Sam.

“That would ruin the surprise. I promise he'll be back, safe and sound, by tomorrow morning.” Damn, he was making so many promises lately it was beginning to make his palms sweat. He offered a hand to Sam who regarded it with suspicion.

“Flying's gonna be a hell of a lot easier if you hold hands with me.” Gabriel stated matter-of-factly, delighting in the slight pink tinge that coloured Sam's cheeks.

“Oh, of course.” Sam interlaced his fingers with Gabriel's, his palm abnormally warm against his own. With a deep breath, Gabriel flexed his aching wings and whisked them away.

* * *

 

 The first thing that greeted Sam as his feet hit solid ground was a concoction of overwhelming scents, drifting from all directions; something sugary and sweet immediately to his left, mingling with the distinctive smell of onions and meat that accompanies fast food trucks. Giggles and shouts rushed past him as crowds moved and thronged, failing to notice the sudden appearance of two men, so wrapped up in their own excitement. Bright lights, a heavy bassline thumping in his chest and squeals of delight from every direction, of course they would be in a fairground. It took Sam a moment to realise that the faint pressure on his hand had vanished. He whirled around, scanning the flow of people for his companion but he was nowhere to be seen. Sam pushed through the crowd, careful of the children darting between people's legs, until he spotted Gabriel leaning against the cotton candy stall, looking remarkably unobtrusive. To any passer-by, he could be any normal man taking a rest after being too adventurous with the vomit-inducing rides.

“You alright?” The obvious answer is 'no' and, as Gabriel looked up at the sound of his voice, Sam felt stupid for even asking. His eyes were at once heavy and hollow, clouded by red rings that drained the colour and life from his face. Sam didn't know that angels could cry, never knew that they had the capacity, but he could've sworn that, just for a second, he glimpsed a solitary drop roll down Gabriel's cheek. Gabriel quickly wiped to sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and fixed an ugly false smile onto his face.

“Yep, I'm peachy. Just a little....flight inconvenience.” Despite himself, Sam snorted.

“Dude, that's the least convincing 'I'm fine' I've ever heard and I've lived with Dean all my life.”

“Honestly, I'm good. I just need...a minute.” His breath came in stuttered bursts, his chest heaving as if he'd ran a marathon. If Gabriel kept talking, Sam had a feeling he was going to pass out. There was an unoccupied bench just in front of the carousel, mere yards away.

“Put your arm around me.” Sam ordered, looping his own around Gabriel's back. The angel started, pulling himself away reflexively. “Sorry...I don't want to make you uncomfortable but you're probably gonna faint soon and what the hell can I do in a random fairground with an unconscious angel?” After a moment of consideration, Gabriel nodded and pushed himself to his feet, leaning against Sam for support. His head lolled against Sam's chest, heat radiating from every contact point like a hearth. Sam used his free hand to gently push his way through the thinning crowd, focusing intently on keeping the angel vertical despite how heavy he was becoming. At last, Sam manoeuvred him onto the bench. His breathing was beginning to even out as he stared, unfocused, at the darkening sky.

“You nearly passing out has really put a downer on my night out.” Sam teased, settling next to him. The carousel whirled and shone in a spectrum of rich colours, gold and reds dancing in front of Sam's eyes to the soundtrack of laughter. He could see why Gabriel brought him here, there was something very relaxing about being surrounded by movement. A faint smile was gathering around the corners of Gabriel's mouth as he watched the golden horses spin, his eyes reflecting the colour in a feeble imitation of their former spark. Sam dug around his pockets, turning up five crumpled dollar bills. Gabriel barely noticed as Sam moved, only returning to focus as he pushed cotton candy under his nose.

“You know angels don't eat right” He asked, still accepting the candy. Sam shrugged.

“You do, like all the time. Anything with over 50% sugar.” He commented, taking a bite of his own. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as what can only be described as pure sugar, thick and stodgy, lodged itself in his throat

“Oh yeah, you're one of those disgusting herbivores right?” Gabriel accused, having already demolished half of his cotton candy.

“Sugar cane is a plant. And I eat lots of meat dumbass.” This statement lingered between them for a while, waiting for one of them to realise the potentiality for mocking. Gabriel snorted, inhaling some of his candy as he laughed.

“Oh I'll bet.” Rolling his eyes, Sam wordlessly handed his stick of candy to Gabriel to finish.

“What are you, five?”

“I'm young at heart, Sammy-boy, I'm young at heart.”

 

It turns out that Gabriel is very much young at heart, Sam considered as a much shorter and stronger man pulled him around the bustling fairground. After a few minutes sit down, Gabriel had apparently regained sufficient vigour to try out every game stall offered with the enthusiasm of an overly-excited child. It took 4 different stalls until Gabriel won at something (he would later say that all of the others were clearly fixed) but he could throw coconuts like a man possessed, winning a stuffed purple dinosaur that was far too big to possibly carry around discreetly. So, naturally, Sam ended up with an armful of purple acrylic and stuffing.

“You need to name him.” Gabriel commented for about the twelfth time.

“I've said, Barney.” He made a noise of disgust.

“Dude you can't call him that. That's the single most unoriginal name I've ever heard.”

“Well do you have a better suggestion?” Gabriel considered for a moment.

“Raymundo. That's a cool name for a cool dinosaur.” And despite the monsters and the nightmares and lies that had shaped Sam's life since he got back topside, he bowed his head and smiled. 

* * *

“So, how's the skin mag?” Dean asked, settling across from where Bobby perused their recent acquisition. The pages crisped as he turned them and Dean struggled to keep the revulsion off his face.

“You kill things for a living and you're disgusted by a bit of old skin?”

“Little bit, yeah. What language is that?” Bobby's face grew more annoyed with every page turned.

“Could be Klingon for all the sense it's making. Some obscure Latin dialect, all I can gather is 'monsters'.” Just what they needed, something untranslatable. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed deeply, and tried not to think of the immediate danger his brother could be in at the hands of a lunatic. Christ, he needed a beer.

“Anything more specific?” He pressed, ignoring the glare Bobby sent his way.

“Well I think I'm clear on this first bit. Think of a place that's like the ass-end of all your worst nightmares. Blood and bone and darkness, filled with the souls of all the things you hunt.” At this point, the only way one could explain Dean's thought process is through heavy description of white noise, occasionally interspersed with loud groans.

“Fan-fricking-tastic. This wouldn't happen to be Purgatory would it?” Bobby closed the book with care and laid it on the desk.

“Bingo. That right there, perfect instruction manual to open a door.”

“Well we've found Crowley's birthday present.”

“He wouldn't have had much use for it. That ain't talking about going for a vacation. That's about opening a door to let something in.” A shiver ran down Dean's spine, his toes curling in revulsion.

“I probably don't want to hear the answer but do you have any idea what?”

“Well I've got a name: mother.” Sighing deeply, Dean dropped his head into his hands. This was it, he was officially retiring. Fuck demons, fuck monsters, fuck mothers; as soon as Sam was back from his playdate, they were going to Europe. All the freaky shit seemed to happen in America anyway. That's probably his fault, his conscience chimed in, trouble follows you around like a bad smell. Of course, he articulated his discomfort with nothing more than a large, drawn-out groan, which earned him an irritated look from Bobby.

“That's just...great. Fan-fucking-tastic.” He shuffled to the fridge in the hope that Gabriel had left some alcohol unsweetened. “So we dig up anything the lore has on mother monsters?” He suggested, tossing a beer Bobby's way. Just as he settled into the couch, Cas managed to scare the shit out of him by appearing barely 3 inches away.

“Hello Dean.” His voice, thank all that is holy, had returned to its usual gravelly register.

“Hey Cas, how's heaven?” Cas blinked, tilting his head as if he did not understand the question.

“At war. Factions are tearing each other apart. Hundreds could die and it seems the only way to stop bloodshed is through further bloodshed.”

“That's rough.” Dean replied, at a loss for anything more meaningful to say. Instead, he offered Cas his beer. He declined but his entire posture softened and he relaxed into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“It's difficult Dean. Have you ever felt like you're wading through blood and death, but that turning back would be as futile as carrying on?” Dean was sure he was supposed to chuckle, brush it off, or agree light-heartedly. But Cas' eyes were far too weary, his breaths were far too deep, and his posture was far too strained. “Balthazar has agreed to donate some weapons to our cause but I can't accept knowing exactly how much devastation they will bring. There has to be a cleaner way.”

“I don't think it's that simple, Cas. I had to let my own brother dive into hell to clean up a mess we should never have been involved in. But that said, is there anything Sam and I can do? I mean, we can't exactly fight an army of angels but if we could find something that might help?” Cas' eyes crinkled in a weak, tired smile.

“I can't ask you or your brother to get involved. You've already done so much and you deserve rest. Dean snorted.

“Tell the world that. Speaking of which, you know anything about mother monsters?” There was no glimmer of recognition in Cas' features. Well, it was worth a shot.

“No, should I?”

“I don't think so but I think we're going to learn more real soon.” Cas continued to frown in confusion, so Dean elaborated. “Bobby reckons we're getting a visit from someone from purgatory. “ The effect was instantaneous. Cas stiffened, his expression unreadable. “Tell me about it, we can't catch a break.” Dean teased. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Cas chuckled a dull humourless sound, far too late to be sincere. He stood up very suddenly, almost brushing his coat against Dean's face in his haste.

“I'm needed in heaven.” Dean caught his elbow, turning Cas to face him as he got to his feet.

“Be careful out there, alright?” He said softly, noticing too late just how close his movement had brought them. Cas' lips parted in surprise but neither of them stepped back.

“Of course, Dean.” He made to turn away but Dean spoke.

“Wait, Cas.” Blue eyes regarded him expectantly. “Not that it's not nice to see you every once in a while but why did you drop in?”

“I...don't know.” And with that, he was gone. 

* * *

Most of the children at the fair had left, leaving only clusters of either very childish or very drunk adults and a couple of kids that were seriously pushing their curfew to frolic beneath the cloudless night sky, speckled with the vibrant lights of an aged Ferris Wheel. Sam had outright refused to set foot on that 'creaking deathtrap', no matter how much Gabriel had pleaded, so after an interesting experience in the hall of mirrors that left a couple of 12 year old bullies with a lifelong fear of marshmallows, they were left to wander the grounds at a slow pace, watching people rush by at the height of frenzied excitement. The grounds were at once peaceful and turbulent. Peaceful almost to the point of serenity, where visions of pain and gore were little more than distant childhood nightmares in the recesses of his mind; forgotten but not quite gone. But, in Sam's life, he'd learned that even the smallest moments of peace rarely came without a price tag.

“I still don't understand why you're doing this.” Sam commented as they walked, attempting to gauge a reaction from the shorter man.

“C'mon Sam, we're both in need of a break. Can't you just accept we're having fun and stop worrying for once?” Oh well when he put it like that, Sam couldn't help but worry more.

“It's just...you were all onboard the apocalypse train last I checked and you were pretty set on throwing us on the tracks too.” Gabriel opened his mouth as if to protest but Sam continued. “Before you say it, yes I remember you fought Lucifer for a bunch of Gods. Not for Earth, definitely not for us. So why the sudden bromance?” Empty ambient noise seemed to fade into muted, muffled vibrations. Isn't it strange how silence does not always occur in the complete absence of sound? Somtimes the most deafening silences fall despite the laughter of children and the melody of semi-familar music. Sometimes, silence is at its loudest when we're waiting for someone to speak. Gabriel stopped walking forward and wordlessly pulled Sam aside into a small alcove between the back of a corndog stall and, as they had discovered earlier, a pretty feeble attempt at a haunted house.

“Look, I honestly did want the apocalypse to go ahead. It's selfish and conceited but at the time it's the only way out I saw. I didn't particularly give a crap about the great destiny bull the other Angels were spouting but I thought 'hey, at least they won't fight anymore right?'. And I guess I didn't care if two humans were sacrificed along the way, hell, I was prepared for the whole planet to roast. I was such an ass because I just couldn't see why you two wouldn't play your damn roles for the greater good.” He failed to meet Sam's eyes for even a second through his mumbled confession, staring at the muddy ground in what Sam dared to believe was genuine shame. Ugly, hot rage bubbled in Sam's chest, directing waves of hatred towards the repentant angel in the absence of anything else to blame. Pain can kill reason just as readily as anger and that moment, it didn't matter to Sam that Gabriel was sorry or that he had no direct hand in shaping his miserable life. The elastic boundaries of Sam's caged emotions snapped and recoiled, leaving raw anguish to spill freely fro his wounded soul.

“I don't give a damn about the greater good, I was a kid! I deserved a normal life! If this good was so great then why didn't you do it?” Passers-by were beginning to stare, likely perceiving a bickering couple, but Sam just couldn't stop the tidal wave of hurt that he'd finally released. “Why did you have to manipulate a child until he was so warped and neck-deep in blood and misery that he had no choice but to do whatever the hell would give him some sense of self worth? You could have just waited until I could make my own choice, if it really was for the greater good then I would have helped in a heartbeat!” His rush of fury faded almost soon as it was released. Gabriel gave no protest, no sign of even wanting to interrupt, he simply looked into Sam's eyes and let his pent-up frustration wash over him like a scolded child. “Look, I'm sorry. I just...” He dragged his rough palm over his face and didn't finish his sentence. Tension flowed out of his muscles as he breathed. Deflated somewhat, Sam attempted to pat Gabriel's arms apologetically but the contact was stiff and awkward, failing to make either of them feel remotely more comfortable.

“I really am sorry.” said Gabriel, his voice quiet and earnest. “We had no right to use you as pawns in our family feud.”

“No, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have shouted.” Gabriel nodded over to a nearby bench.

“Sit your ass down Winchester, what's up?” Sam took a seat.

“You mean aside from all the?” He asked, gesturing vaguely to his head. “Dean lied to me. I know I shouldn't be shocked by this point, that's not my main concern.” Sam paused, struggling to say the truth aloud, as though admitting it would make it unavoidably real. “I've been out of hell for almost a year, soulless.”

“I know.” This didn't surprise him.

“Then you know I was a monster, I've hurt people. Cas told me everything he knew but what else happened that I don't know about? That I can't remember until my mind damn breaks?” His mind itched like a newly-healed scab, not painful as such but present nonetheless. And, as with any healing wound, Sam had a masochistic urge to rip it open.

“Sam, that wasn't you.” He'd been expecting this feeble reassurance. It was undoubtedly the same once he'd receive from Dean and Bobby and anyone else he'd open up to but he simply couldn't bring himself to believe it.

“No, it was. That's the worst thing. My mind, my decisions. I wasn't possessed, I knew exactly what I was doing.” Sam had long given up on trying to understand an angel's emotions but at that moment, he could have sworn that Gabriel looked downright miserable.

“That was who you could be, not who you are. That makes all the difference. Everyone has the potential for darkness, you more than most. It doesn't make you a monster.” Gabriel regarded him, his voice soothing and full of age and kindness, worlds away from the mischievous being he presented himself as.

“I don't know Gabe.” If Gabriel noticed the nickname, he didn't show any sign. “After what I've done? Some people could say I've already realised that potential.” His memory stirred, bringing up harsh words and accusations. “Some already have.”

“You see that? That guilt and suffering? That's all human. Fact is, tin man, that you're ruled by your soul more than you think. It's wounded and scarred but it's still so full of good that once it's in your body, that 'monster' you saw is gone. You see, all monsters wish to be more human. But I'm afraid they don't know how.” They sat in companionable silence, watching the sun peek shyly from behind a distant horizon, Sam mulling over Gabriel's reassuring words. He thought back to the trickster they'd first met, so unrepentant for the death and misery he caused, and to the fun-loving angel so keen to distance himself from his colder kin, an angel that could only be described as human.

“Do you?” He asked, inwardly scolding himself for almost calling Gabriel a monster.

“Yes, I do. I'm not sorry for the people I killed, they deserved it. I don't just kill dicks, Sam. That silver fox professor? Sometimes, college girls weren't enough. Sometimes, he liked to pay visits to nearby high schools. Not all monsters have claws and fangs. That's just the nature of angels, we smite sinners and as much as I like to think I'm not one of them, I can't help my own nature.” Strange as it was to see him sombre, Sam couldn't help but appreciate the bitter-sweet swell of emotion he felt towards him. Having someone truly understand your pain if a rare and beautiful thing, rarer still in Sam's line of experience. Try as he might to understand, Dean never could. He'd spent his life sure of his direction, hailed as a saviour and righteous man, never once seen to be an abomination. Rebelling against a family that didn't understand what it meant to be different, well, that was something Gabriel and Sam knew.

“Well you're still the same trickster that tried to stop me worrying about my brother's death by killing him.” Sam offered, humour creeping into his tone.

“Hey, the logic was there! Not my fault it was like teaching astrophysics to a mole rat. I couldn't say no to those puppy dog eyes!” Gabriel countered, his voice light and teasing.

“I don't have-” Sam started indignantly.

“Yes you do and you know it. Now here we are years later and you still haven't learned your lesson.” He did have a point, not that Sam would admit it.

“I learned something.”

“I'm all ears.”

“I learned that I never want to hear Asia again for as long as I live.” Gabriel laughed and stood up, offering Sam his hand.

“I have to get you back before that brother of yours scours the whole of the U.S for you. Believe me, he would.” Running away from your problems can't last forever, much as Sam wanted it to. He took Gabriel's hand and felt the ground drop from under his feet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me that neither of the Winchesters saw or heard Gabriel's lovely 'defense of humanity' speech so they are laboring under the misapprehension that he doesn't give two shits about humanity and that is honestly so tragic.


	9. Ruby Tuesday

“I seem to recall that we’ve already had this conversation. Smiting Raphael is good, go for that. Getting me involved? No, that’s bad, we don’t want to do that.” Balthazar crossed his arms, staring Castiel down with wavering defiance.

“I hate to ask this Balthazar, you know that. But I need your help.” Castiel pleading, wishing that he could spare his brother from the conflict. Balthazar was the closest thing he’d had to a friend in the garrison; they’d spent most of their time together as fledglings, barely old enough to hold a blade. Before Lucifer’s fall, heaven had been a tranquil and light place. The seraphs were raised under the careful guidance of the archangels, even Raphael had been kind and caring, albeit a little stricter than Gabriel or Lucifer. But despite calling all angels ‘brother’, there were very few Castiel actually held in such high regard. One of them was staring him down with borrowed eyes. Those were the angles he was fighting for. He knew that their idealistic family was a distant memory, he was hopeful, not naïve.

“Not interested.” Balthazar stated, turning to disappear from the darkened church. Castiel took hold of his arm with a strong but breakable grip.

“Hear me out.” He asked, releasing his hold. Balthazar sighed but turned toward him anyway, inviting Castiel to continue. “You needn’t get involved, it’s your weapons I require.”

“Oh wow and I actually felt special for a moment.” Castiel raised an eyebrow in exasperation, couldn’t Balthazar see that he was trying to protect him?

“If you transfer possession of your weapons over to me, you can escape and neither Raphael nor his followers will ever concern you again.” Balthazar was silent for a moment, considering the offer.

“The problem is, Cassie, that wherever you go, Raphael is not far behind. What’s to stop him, say, turning up and running off with all my nice shiny weapons? Then you’d be truly buggered.” He had a point of course, Raphael already outnumbered him 5 to 1. If he got his hands on even a fraction of what Balthazar had, they might as well count the war lost.

“Then we’ll need a distraction. Something to keep Raphael and his followers occupied while we move the weapons somewhere safe.” Balthazar nodded slowly, a grin spreading across his face.

“I’ve got something guaranteed to keep old mopey arse off your tail.  I’ll set it up and meet you here-“ he scribbled an address onto a disused napkin and offered it to him “-to  take you to my hoard. Are you completely sure he can’t see us here?” Castiel took the napkin and tucked it into his pocket.

“We’re safe here for the moment, I assigned the appropriate sigils to keep us invisible but Raphael always finds a way.” Castiel explained, glancing at the tarnished walls where the protection dwelled, hidden from sight.

“Alright, I won’t be long.” Balthazar said, his voice light and cheerful.

“Thank you, brother.” Castiel replied, his words full of affection and gratitude for the wayward angel he once called the closest of kin. Balthazar waved his hand dismissively.

“What else could I do, I quite like the world and I don’t want it to explode anytime soon. Don’t expect me to drape myself in heaven’s flag and charge on the front line.” With that, he was gone, leaving Castiel alone once again in the unquiet darkness.

* * *

 

A shard of glass sliced through Sam’s hand neatly as he shielded his eyes from the shattering window. The key Balthazar had given him dug into his other palm as he braced himself for the impact, too stunned to fully comprehend what was going on around him. He landed sharply on the ground and, to his great surprise, it yielded beneath him. Hands sinking into a smooth, pliable surface, Sam pushed himself up and gazed in astonishment at his surroundings. Lights glared from all directions, illuminating the studio past the point of visibility.

“What the fu-“ Dean sputtered beside him, equally transfixed by their new surroundings. Sam checked himself over, searching for the cuts and tears the glass _should_ have caused to his skin and clothes but he appeared completely unharmed. Even the gash on his hand was absent, as though it were healed by an angel. The two of them stood, ready to run or fight whatever reared its ugly head but nothing appeared. Harassed-looking PAs darted between people, offering coffee and snacks whilst avoiding the more important assistants that brandished clipboards with haughty determination. A huge black camera stared right at them, making Sam feel rather self-conscious. Behind it, two men appeared deep in discussion; neither spared a glance for Sam or Dean. He took a fragment of glass from the mattress beneath them and shook it, watching it wobble back and forth. Dean eyed the offending piece, befuddlement etched in his features.

“Moving on! That’s a wrap on Jared and Jensen!” The younger of the two men called out. The studio was a flurry of activity as people made to clear away the set pieces behind them.

“Who the hell are-“ Sam began but he was interrupted by a young woman with an earpiece.

“Jared! Three minutes, okay? Great.” Before Sam could protest, she had him by the hand and was already leading him away. Faces flashed by as she manoeuvred him through the bustling studio but Dean’s was not one of them; he was lost to the sea of weird Sam was drowning in. Freckled teenagers stumbled past him with armfuls of the most horrifying weapons and torture instruments, so out of place for the bright studio. A flash of scarlet on a rubber knife caught his attention but when he looked twice it was gone. The interviewer’s grip was becoming vice-like on his hand and Sam collided with an elderly man as he struggled. As he turned to apologise, the words died in his mouth. The man grinned at him, his eyes a deep yellow. Sam jumped, his heart pounding in his throat as though he were choking on it. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a glimmer of golden hair darting through a doorway. He followed it without hesitation, the interviewer’s grip shaken by the sudden movement.

“Jared!” She yelled after him but he was already out of her reach, chasing the brief glimpse of Gabriel through the studio as reality began to warp around him.

“Gabriel!” He called, trying desperately to ignore the faces of familiar archangels leering at him from every reflective surface. Gabriel stopped and turned but the moment their eyes met, Sam knew something was off. For one, Gabriel seemed to have acquired a good bit of stubble in the few days since Sam had seen him. His eyes were bright and friendly, showing none of the fatigue Sam had become accustomed to. Sam had to admit that Gabe looked…good. Very, very good in fact. Gabriel coughed pointedly and Sam blushed, only just realising that he had been staring.

“Sorry…I just mean, what are you doing here?!” He blurted out. Gabriel regarded him with complete bemusement.

“Gee, thanks Jared. I get it, just because my character was killed off last season…”

“What?”

“Do you pay attention to the show or just show up for the paycheck at this point?” Sam stared in bewilderment. This wasn’t Gabriel that much was clear; he was actually capable of standing still. The smile was the same, full of mischief, but his manner was far more reserved.

“Tough question. So, yeah, it’s nice to see you.” He stammered, unsure of what to say under not-Gabriel’s scrutiny.

“If you must know, I was just seeing Singer.” He checked the area theatrically before leaning in close to stage-whisper. “They’re thinking of bringing Gabriel back on the show!”

“Bringing him back?”

“Yeah, I don’t know how they’re going to do it, we saw Lucifer stab him in the heart! Wings on the ground, the whole caboodle. But they’ll pull something, god knows the fans want it. You and Misha going to VanCon this year?” Sam hadn't the foggiest what VanCon or Misha were but he agreed anyway. Fans, characters, this was all beginning to seem very Carver Edlund. God, when he got his hands on Balthazar…

“Sam!” Dean’s voice called him to attention from next to a perfect replica of Bobby’s panic room, complete with metal cot. He made his excuses to non-Gabriel and ran towards his brother.

* * *

 

Gabriel lounged on a park bench, listening to the birds whistle the same melodies the angels had taught them, long ago. They were euphoric in their freedom, fluttering every which way like little smug assholes. Gabriel had freedom too now and he could do just about anything he wanted, with the exception of annoying his favourite hunters of course, but he had to admit that freedom had lost its appeal. Sure, he could set a wolf on a dog abuser, drop a Republican candidate in the middle of a drag show but that’s what he did _yesterday_. A fat pigeon landed on the branch, sending the smaller birds whizzing away in fright. That pigeon was obviously Michael, thinking it ruled the roost. Give the other birds a chance, shitdick. This was it, he’d reached the point of cursing at birds alone on a decaying park bench. Really, Gabriel, you need to get out more he told himself. Right now, Castiel was probably engaged in a deadly game of cat and mouse, just trying to stay one step ahead until he could think of any way to win his impossible war. If only they’d managed to throw Raphael in the cage too, that would have saved them a world of problems. Hell, they could have dropped Gabe in too, he wouldn’t have minded that much at this point. An eternity in Lucifer’s time out box with his favourite big brothers. And Sam, of course. Maybe if he’d been there, it would have been different; less torture, more family bonding. Subconsciously, Gabriel pressed a hand to his chest where he could still feel the sting of the wide, jagged scar beneath his vessel’s clothing. Family bonding was always fun.

Try as he might, Gabriel just couldn’t distract himself. The bar was rough, smelling of cheap liquor and urine, and he could see about 6 creeps that could use a good pranking. He could also see a _very_ attractive brunette leaning on the bar nursing a cosmopolitan. But instead of sidling up to her and employing his very best pickup lines, he was sat alone worrying about the Winchesters. His asshole brain kept conjuring images of Sam, weak and trembling, completely at the mercy of the memories Gabriel had helped restore. It was like trying to watch TV while an annoying sibling insisted on changing the channel to a miserable hospital documentary. His mind flickered between the channels. Rowdy bar, Sam alone and afraid, gorgeous brunette, Raphael killing Cas, the daiquiri in his hand, Dean desperately trying and failing to wake his brother, the sound of a pool balls colliding, Sam cold and unresponsive having _finally_ succumbed to the hell Gabriel had filled his mind with. His stomach twisted, he couldn’t do this anymore. He polished off the daiquiri in one swift gulp and exited the bar. Surely it couldn’t hurt just to check up on them, could it?

 

“Gone? They’re just-“ Gabriel wiggled his hands with incredulity. “Into thin air? How can they do that?” Bobby glared at him and conspicuously loaded the shotgun in his hands.

“I don’t know, smartass.  You seem more qualified than me on that.” Gabriel had already scanned the planet and even checked a fraction of the galaxy because, with those two, it would not surprise him to find them on Pluto.

“Nope, they’re gone. Probably an alternate universe. Why the hell are they in an alternate universe?”

“You tell me!” He advanced menacingly, hands poised on the shotgun that would do absolutely nothing against Gabriel. Maybe just to give the old man peace of mind, Gabriel backed away, his hands raised in surrender.

“Right, I see how this looks. I did nothing. Before, I just put them in an iddy biddy pocket reality. This is….like a whole new fucking universe. Seriously, kudos to whoever did this.” Bobby set the gun aside and groaned.

“It’s just one thing after another with those two. I only went out to get booze.”

“They need a babysitter.” Gabriel remarked. Bobby huffed in agreement.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Ah, damn. No good explanations came readily to mind. It was difficult to be honest when Gabriel didn’t actually know the answer.

“Head maintenance. Checking that everything was….good with the mind funnel that I put in.” Yes, that worked. True enough, anyway. Bobby narrowed his eyes in suspicion but didn’t challenge him.

“I suggest we find them before Raphael does. This could be a start.” Bobby threw a dish at Gabriel. It smelt strongly of smoke with a hint of lamb’s blood. And was that…bone of a lesser saint? He sniffed deeply; yes it was. Someone had been very naughty indeed.

“This is definitely a start.”

* * *

 

Dean was relieved to see Sam standing by what he hoped was the exit to this god-awful nightmare. He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, clearly trying to blend in despite the fact that he was a good half-foot taller than just about everybody in the studio. Dean’s face still burned from the acid wipes that had violated his skin, simply the crowning glory of the pervasive and creepy feeling he was getting from this setup.

“Dude they put makeup on us! Those bastards.” He declared upon reaching his brother.

“Did they just take it off?” Sam asked, staring a little too much.

“Um…yeah, why?”

“You should wear it more often. You look terrible.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Ha Ha, very funny Sam.” Sam smirked but his face dropped a moment later when a shrill voice echoed through the studio.

“Jared!” Dean caught a brief glimpse of the same woman that led Sam away earlier heading towards them, determination in her features.

“Let’s go!” Sam said suddenly and pulled Dean through the heavy door.

 

“So let me get this straight.” Dean contemplated as they walked through the parking lot. “You’re saying that our lives-“

“Are a TV show, yes.” Sam finished.

“Fantastic. Why the hell are people watching our lives?”

“According to that interviewer, not many people do. But it makes sense, there are the supernatural books in our universe. TV show in this one.” Dean struggled with the whole ‘alternate universe’ for the moment but, honestly, this would not be the weirdest thing that has happened to them.

“So is the maker of this show a prophet? Like Chuck?” He asked.

“I don’t know, could be.” Chuck had stopped writing, Dean was sure of that. But apparently this show was still filming, meaning people knew what was happening in their lives at this moment and possibly what was going to happen in the future.. Useful, maybe, but creepy. And there'd probably be enough paradox-related bullshit to thoroughly screw them over.

“Wait, how do you know all this?” He asked as they passed rows of those buggy things Dean had become accustomed to seeing in every portrayal of film sets.

“I met Gabriel. Well, not him exactly but the actor who plays him. On this TV show. So get this, you and I are actors, or at least going through wife swap with them.” That must be ‘Jensen’ then. The makeup-wearing guy who looks exactly like Dean. Christ, even for them this was a whole new level of weirdness.

“So…the actors are in our universe?” Dean asked, inwardly cringing at the mental image of Bobby conversing with two confused primadonnas.

“Oh god I hope not.” Sam replied, his face a picture of utter horror. At least he looked how Dean felt. Then, a very welcome sight took up his attention.

“Aw baby, I’m glad you made it.” He strolled over to his beloved car, drinking in every feature with renewed faith that just maybe everything could turn out okay. Then, the illusion was shattered by some moron with a bucket of cold mud.

“Hey! Hey, what are you-“ He reached for his gun but came up empty: he’d left the damned thing in their universe. Balthazar needs to give more warning before he shoves people through portals. Before he could attack the heretic who dare desecrate baby, he noticed 3 more Impalas in a row, as if arranged on a factory conveyor belt. Disgust and anger on his baby’s behalf coursing through him, all Dean could think of was taking a certain sleazy angel and shoving his special key into another dimension.

“I think I’m gonna be sick. I want to go home. This place is bad-touching me all over.”

“Yeah I know, me too. So what do you think? Cas?” Damn, Dean had been so preoccupied with wayward tricksters, misplaced souls, and sick universes that reeked of Big Brother that he’d forgotten about their winged ally. Well, that wasn’t strictly true but it was better to fill his mind with issues he could actually throw himself into than worry endlessly that one day he could pray and get no reply. Both methods came with sleepless nights but he’d rather stay up watching Sammy for any sign of trouble than staring at the ceiling all night, alone with nothing but a sickening ache in his gut as his mind conjured images of blue eyes burning out.

“Yeah…okay. If he’s still alive.” He said, voice cracking a little as he recited his prayer. “Dear Castiel who art maybe running his ass away from heaven. You got your ears on? ‘Cause your buddy’s got us into a weird situation.” Dean held his breath, as though he could bring Cas to them through sheer power of will alone. There was no flutter of wings or ‘hello Dean’ this time. They stood waiting in the studio parking lot, growing more wary as each second passed by.

“That’s not a good sign.” Sam observed, watching Dean carefully.

“I’m sure he’s fine, just-” Dean began to reply but stopped as he glimpsed a flurry of beige disappear between two techy-looking stagehands.

“Cas!” He yelled, voice embarrassingly high with relief as he ran towards him. “Man, it is good to see you. What’s all this crap? What did Balthazar do to us?” Cas’ gaze flickered between the two of them before he answered.

“He cast you into an alternate dimension to keep you out of Virgil’s reach. This universe is very similar to ours in most respects, drastically different in other.” You could always count on Cas to be cryptic but at least he was here.

“Right, so it’s like Bizzaro earth? Or like mirror universe but instead of evil clones we get….whatever the fuck this is?”

“Nice way of putting it.” Sam commented next to him.

“Shut up.” Dean replied. Cas watched the exchange with confusion; trust him not to understand the reference.

“Anyway, no time to explain. Do you have the key he gave you?” Sam handed Cas the key.

“Yeah, so what does it do anyway?” Sam asked.

“It opens a room.” Cas answered as if that was explanation enough.

“Gonna need some elaboration there, buddy. What’s in the room?” Dean half expected Cas not to answer. The contents of the room were probably sensitive information, after all.  But to Dean’s surprise, Cas answered.

“Every weapon Balthazar stole from heaven.” So the small key in Cas’ hand was the cosmic equivalent of nuclear codes. And it was their responsibility. Oh god they were so screwed.

“And he just gave it to us?”

“To keep it safe until I could reach you. With those weapons, I can rally my forces.” Nice to see Cas trusting them with something this big; although, they could do with a little warning next time.

“Oh. Okay good but what’s the deal with all this TV crap?” Sam asked. Cas glanced between them, eyebrows furrowing in bewilderment. Join the club, pal.

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, Amen Padaleski.” Dean muttered to Sam.

“Lecki.” He corrected.

“What?”

“Pada _lecki._ Pretty sure.” Like that didn’t make the name any less weird.

“What? Did they give you new pages, thanks for telling me guys?” Cas rifled through papers he retrieved from his coat, his voice unrecognisable. Gone was the gritty register that made Dean’s throat hurt just listening to, in its place was something remarkably…human. Remembering what Sam had said about fake Gabriel, Dean snatched the pages from his hand.

“This is a script. This isn’t Cas.” He read a few lines and, sure enough, their conversation was printed just like Chuck’s books. Another detail caught his eye.

“His name’s Misha. Really? _Misha_?” Fake Cas, or _Misha_ apparently, shrugged off his shirt and coat to reveal a powder blue T Shirt with the kind of symbol Dean expected in stores trying to be ethnic and hippy.

“You’re messing with me? Man, I hate you guys. They don’t teach you this in drama school.” Dean prised the key out of his hand and shoved past, too disgusted with this whole universe to even reply.

 

Dean paced through the pristine trailer, turning over every little amenity and knick-knack he could find, looking for the magic switch that would snap them out of this nightmare. Sam hadn’t moved in half an hour, he’d just tapped furiously on the sleek laptop they’d found, his expression shifting from bemusement to anger to just plain grossed out. If he’d had any… _episodes_ since landing in TV studio land, he showed no sign. Either the world was giving him a break for once or, the more likely option, he’d gotten very good at hiding it. Or maybe the laptop was nice enough to take his mind off it, they’d have to swipe it on the way out of here. It was his, after all.

“Found anything interesting?” Dean asked. Sam hummed in reply and gestured with his hands silently for a moment, the way he always does when preparing to unleash a tidal wave of freaky revelations.

“I’ve found that I want to take a really _really_ long shower. It’s just…weird. And invasive. It’s like Truman Show level of creepy.” Dean always hated secret-camera shows. Now he was living one. Figures. “It’s all here, childhood flashbacks even. Hey! I looked nothing like that.” Dean glanced at the scrawny kid on the screen.

“Yeah, you did. That’s scary.” Sam glared at him but continued.

“It even shows…sexual encounters?” Dean snatched the laptop from Sam and stared in disbelief.

“What the hell? They know about Ronda Hurley!”

“Who’s Ronda Hurely?” Sam inquired. Dean quickly closed the tabs and handed the laptop back.

“Mind your own damn business.” He snapped.

* * *

 

Castiel waited in the location Balthazar had given him, drawing concerned looks from humans in the vicinity. Knowing his brother, Castiel supposed that Balthazar had agreed to meet him in a female undergarment store on purpose. He was also exactly 7 minutes late.

“Can I help you sir?” A high voice asked, its tone feigning joy. The person to whom it belonged was a young woman wearing a false smile, her eyes fixed on Castiel as though he were something strange.

“Ummmm… what would you recommend?” He stammered, glancing around the heavily perfumed store for any sign of Balthazar.

“Well that depends on the occasion! We have some lovely pieces for a romantic getaway or honeymoon but if you’d like something simpler…” She drifted between the displays, chattering pleasantly as she held various scraps of fabric up to Castiel for his appraisal.

“Is it for a wife or girlfriend?” She quizzed, handing a few items to him.

“Ummmmm….” He mumbled, lost for any way to cover. Balthazar chose this moment to walk in, utter delight colouring his features as he spotted Castiel laden with undergarments.

“Sorry I’m late, honey.” He proclaimed. The woman stared at the newcomer, turning back to Castiel with an understanding smile on her face.

“I must leave. But thank you for your help.” He apologised, handing back the garments and all but frog-marched Balthazar out of the door.

 

They landed in an immense warehouse, piled high with containers of all sizes, from basic cardboard boxes to crates large as shipping containers. A lone forklift patrolled the goods, its driver blissfully unaware of the true value of some of these items.

“You hid heaven’s weapons in a store warehouse?” Castiel asked, poring over the unremarkable boxes for any trace of heavenly signature.

“No of course not, I’m not an idiot. I hid the _doorway_ to the place I hid heaven’s weapons in a store warehouse. Give me some credit, Cassie.” He explained, trailing his fingers along the containers as they walked. He plucked a crowbar from one of the shelves and wedged it into the side of a crate. As the lid fell, white light streamed freely from the container, warping the air it touched.

“After you.” Balthazar said and lightly pushed Castiel into the crate.

 

Balthazar had hidden the weapons in a small cave he’d carved into a mountain himself. It was buried deep, no physical entrances, and angel warding surrounded it on all sides. The only way in was the makeshift portal, hidden in an unremarkable crate stacked with thousands just like it. In terms of security, Castiel was impressed.

“Right, well. Over there you’ve got Gabriel’s horn of truth. He might be wanting it back I suppose…but no matter, all it does is get you into some _very_ awkward situations at dinner parties. Don’t touch that! It’s a spoke of Saint Catherine’s wheel, last person I saw touch that was ripped apart violently. Guts everywhere, a nightmare to get out of the carpet. And this-“ he pulled a rusted sword from its sheath “-is probably what you’re here for. Castiel took the sword, its plain surface was warm to the touch.

“Michael’s flaming sword.” He murmured, breathless with awe.

“Bingo. You have to wonder why God bothered with angel blades when he had that up his sleeve. One swing of that and Raphael’s crusade will be over.” Castiel slid the sword back into its sheath, his fingertips chilled by the loss. Of all the wonders in the cave, this rusted blade was singularly the most important, both to heaven and to him. He held the key to victory in his hand, all it took was to engage Raphael in single combat; nothing could stand against this sword.

“How did you distract Raphael?” He asked, still gazing at the weapon with reverence.

“Sent him on a wild goose chase. Or should I say a wild Winchester chase?” Castiel’s attention snapped to Balthazar at the mention of the name.

“What did you do to them?” He demanded, his voice dangerously soft.

“Oh relax. They can handle themselves. They’re like lovable little cockroaches.”

“You should show them some respect.” He warned. The sheath in his hand began to grow warm, his worry and rage sparking the blade into life.

“Oh I do. I show them more respect than you do by coddling them. Do you really think they want to be treated like naughty children, incapable of making their own decisions on whether to throw themselves into danger every day of their lives?” Balthazar postulated, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. Castiel’s anger faded away and the sword cooled, a rusty blade once again.

“Well done, you set the righteousness blade off. It needs to burn more than that to work, though.” Castiel ignored this comment, his mind too focused on the Winchesters.

“Where are they? You’re fetching them back, now.”

* * *

 

Gabriel painted the sigil on the window, the bloody mixture dripping from his fingertips.

“So this is gonna bring them back?” Bobby leant against the garage wall, watching Gabriel’s progress.

“In theory, yes.”  Gabriel replied shortly, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“In theory?”

“Big glowing sigil appears on a window right next to where you’re standing. Would you jump through it?” Gabriel reasoned, inspecting the mark as it began to hum and glow.

“Depend on the kinda day I was having. So this only works if the boys jump through it?” There were about a million ‘ifs’ in this plan but it was the best they had. Fiddling with alternate universes and timelines? That was above even Gabriel’s pay grade. He could only hope that they recognised the sigil.

* * *

 

Virgil’s fist collided with Sam’s cheekbone with such force that it knocked him over. He squeezed the key in his hand, searching for any weapon they could use against the militant angel but everything in this place was just a prop. A thud and a grunt from above him indicated that Dean had at least managed to land a hit but the two of them stood no chance unarmed. The sounds of the scuffle seemed to diminish, all Sam could hear was a faint ringing, growing unbearably loud then softening, almost like a pulse. A nearby fake window glowed with light, the sigil upon it painstakingly familiar.

“Dean!” He yelled, caught between relief and desperation. Dean turned at the sound of his voice just as Virgil charged into him. Sam had no choice but to grab hold and pull all three of them through the window.

Sam collided with solid ground, the lack of mattress coming as a relief despite the pain jolting through his bones. Wet gravel pressing into his palms, he clambered to his feet to see a woman standing in front of them.

“Well isn’t this a surprising situation?” She said, her condescending tone and uniform posture all too familiar.

“Raphael? Oh shit.”

* * *

 

Bobby and Gabriel stood, dumbstruck, amongst shattered glass staring at the spot the Winchesters had landed and immediately disappeared from.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t supposed to happen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...the French Mistake was certainly a difficult one to tackle. It's such a beloved episode so it would be a crime to alter it too drastically. So I thought I'd do 'the other side' of the French Mistake.


	10. Bad Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to offer my most heartfelt apologies at how long this has taken me. I've had this chapter half written for over a year but it has frankly been a mess of uni and stress and I've barely had the time to come back to it. It's a little heavy on the conversation and character, I promise the next one will have more action, whenever that may come.

“Shut up and look for them then chuckles.”

“What do you think I’m doing grandpa?”

“Standing there being a smartass.”

“It’s harder than it looks! Thanks to my baby bro, Batman and Robin are flying under the radar. I just need to see if anyone is thinking about them or picturing their faces or….OW!” A piercing screech blared through Gabriel’s temple, shattering any thought signals in its way. He clutched his head, spewing a variety of colourful curses.

“You good?” Bobby asked.

“Holy shitting mother of Jesus that hurt.” He breathed deeply, waiting for the pain to fade.

“On the bright side, I know where our lost boys are.” Bobby stood up immediately, about as eager as Gabriel figured the grouchy hunter could get. “The other down side is that they’re with Raphael.” The rare happy expression dropped off Bobby’s face like peeling wallpaper.

“How do you know?” He demanded.

“Raphael practically screamed it over angel radio. He’s baiting Cas in, oh this is bad.” Gabriel paced back and forth, wringing his hands in worry. He didn’t have the power to spirit them both away and get himself out without blowing his cover.

“Well go get them!” Bobby ordered. Gabriel looked into Bobby’s panic-stricken eyes, dreading the reply he was about to give. #

“I…can’t,” he stammered, barely coherent.

“Come again?” Bobby replied, his voice dangerously soft. Gabriel stared at his own feet, avoiding the hunter’s thunderous glare.

“If I go now, Raphael sees I’m alive and I can kiss peace goodbye. He’ll be stuck to my ass like wet leather.” His excuses poured from his lips like a waterfall of guilt. Why should he explain himself? He owed nothing to these asshats, he was just tagging along for the ride. When the ride suddenly dropped of a fucking cliff, Gabriel should be able to get off.

“Then Cas will go," Bobby concluded. "Do you think he can take Raphael?” Bobby was no fool; he already knew the answer.

“Raphe will eat him for dinner and have your boys for cleansing mints. I could maybe distract him and get them away but… there’s no way I get out intact.” He squirmed, grace writhing under the vessel’s skin in its haste to escape the discomfort. If this decision was the right one, why did it feel so wrong?

“But-“ Bobby began. The unpleasant itch under Gabriel’s skin erupted in a burst of irritation.

“No! Why should I be risking my ass again? I’ve already helped you out and what do I get in return? Absolutely nada. My shift’s over, find yourself another angel!” He snapped, stretching his wings to get away as quickly as possible.

“Wait. Send me there.” Bobby requested, his tone final. Oh yes, this was the main who raised the Winchesters. Self-sacrificing whackjobs, the whole lot of them.

“Are you crazy? He’ll kill you, do you realise that?” He challenged. Damning all of them in one action was beyond even his conscience.

“Quit whining and do it.” This wasn’t a request; it was a command. With all the reluctance of a monarch signing their sibling’s death warrant, Gabriel touched Bobby’s arm and sent him to his doom. 

It’s all Sam’s fault, with his big brown doe eyes and soft smile, coming into Gabriel’s life and spreading out on the couch like he belonged there, hauling in a big bag of problems to put on Gabriel’s already cluttered shelf. No, he’d had it; he wasn’t about to give everything up to help two humans. But he couldn’t just let them die…urgh. Why did life victimise him this way? He was content with debauchery but it just had to throw a Winchester-shaped spanner in the works. And on the fourth day God was in a fucking terrible mood so He decided to make an innocent angel named Gabriel and take out all his frustrations by ruining his life. That sounded about right. He didn’t want to play heaven’s game; that was long in the past. Of course neither did the Winchesters but they were stuck doing it anyway. Guilt had never been Gabriel’s strong suit; it just wasn’t something he knew how to deal with. Living a life in the moment and never dwelling on the past in an effort to live regret-free. Running away from his problems, now that was something he could do. It was time for him to disappear and, with knots in his stomach and a weight in his mind, that is exactly what he did.

* * *

 

A grey-suited angel snatched the key out of Dean’s clenched fist. Invisible force held his body pinned uselessly to the gravel yet again, unable to lift his head even to stare his death in the face. Of course Raphael would want to gloat rather than just killing them quickly, why did every evil thing in existence love the sound of their own superiority? He had no chance of escaping like this, not unless…much like demons, angels were very easy to goad into anger. A break in defence could be an opportunity. Of course, it could just mean being splattered all over the pavement with a click of the fingers but was Raphael strong enough to hold Sam down while smiting Dean? Something that messy has gotta use up a lot of juice, right? If he could provide a split second distraction, Sam could slip away. No, that was stupid. Sam wouldn’t leave him, he knew that. Heels clicked across a stone floor as Raphael paced, he must be waiting for someone.

“I appreciate the lie down chuckles but this floor is hell on the knees.” Dean called out, straining his neck in an effort to raise his mouth away from the floor. Raphael ignored him. He tried again. “I’m sorry, are we interrupting your walk?”

“Believe me, I wish I could kill you. I’m not fond of dwelling in the company of such insignificant creatures but I’m afraid this is necessary. For whatever reason, one of my younger brothers in particularly fond.” The voice was different: higher, feminine. But there was no mistaking the cold monotony that weighed on every word. Cas would come for them, trap or not. Dean knew it. There hadn’t been a single time he’d let them down, even against impossible odds, even against his own family. He winced as the image of Cas’ violent demise rushed to the forefront of his mind. Even if it went dying. He repeated a silent prayer in his mind.

_It’s a trap, look after yourself, don’t worry about us, you’d be outnumbered, don’t risk it. It’s a trap, look after your-_

“I know you’re praying to him.” Raphael stated, with all the vigour of a ten-year-old receiving socks for Christmas. “Don’t let me stop you, tell him everything. He’ll come anyway. Then I can rid myself of 3 irritating insects in one.” Dean bit his tongue, stifling the retorts that threatened to burst forth. Instead, he worked through his limited options. If he could distract Raphael, Cas could grab Sam and disappear. But would he be fast enough to evade Raphael’s security detail? Dean couldn’t gauge how many angels there were from hearing alone, the only footsteps to be heard were Raphael’s, but he doubted Raphael would have only one angel guarding his precious hide. Not after the Balthazar incident. Nose pressed to the gravel, he could see no other options.

_Right Cas listen up buddy. I need you to wait until I’ve got Raphael worked up and then you grab Sam and leave. Don’t worry about me, just get him out of here._

The seconds ticked by. Still no sign. He had no way of knowing if Cas had even heard him. He could be waiting on Dean’s distraction. Dean took the chance.

“Think you’ve made a mistake here shitdick.” Raphael ignored him. “No I mean this is some top quality plan right here. No wonder daddy didn’t love you.” He could hear Sam whispering from somewhere on his right.

“Dean what the fuck are you doing?” Dean ignored him.

“So you’ve started this dick measuring contest to…what? Get his approval. Now that’s middle child syndrome right there. I mean, you’re an archangel but you weren’t the first were you? You’ve got Michael and Luci, they were the real apples of dad’s eye weren’t they? And then you had Gabe as your classic adorable little brother, always getting all the attention and fuss. Where did that leave you? Judging by this tantrum of yours, it ain’t somewhere good.” Silence. Raphael’s footsteps had stopped. Dean held his breath. The force that had pinned him down disappeared and he managed to raise his head a fraction before being thrown into a solid wall. His head connected with a sickening crunch and he fell to the floor. Stars clouded his vision, appearing as quickly as he could blink them away. He tried to push himself up, attempting to ignore the blinding pain ripping through his skull. It did no good. Shapes and colours danced in front of his eyes, never focusing into something tangible. He struggled to his knees, ignoring the screams of protest from his limbs. All hearing in his left ear was gone, as if he’d been submerged in water. He touched a hand to his ear. It came away wet.

“It would be unwise to test me.” Raphael said calmly, his voice muffled but coherent. The whole world swayed and danced but Dean could just make out the figures in the scene before him. Mainly, the dark skinned woman standing in the foreground he presumed to be Raphael. A new shape manifested immediately behind him. Cas? His heart leapt in hope.

“Like hell, jackass.” A gunshot followed Bobby’s voice.

* * *

 

Castiel landed lightly on solid ground. Balthazar followed suit, brushing the wrinkles from his jacket he’d obtained in the flight. Raphael had his back to them, wings crackling in fury as he advanced on Bobby Singer. Castiel could feel Bobby’s fear permeating through his defiance, yet he raised his shotgun to fire another pointless shot. He didn’t need to, Raphael stopped dead in his tracks. Clearly sensing Castiel’s presence, he turned. To his left, Sam struggled to his feet, his face and hands peppered with scrapes. Raphael gave no sign of noticing and kept his stone eyes fixed on Castiel, wings flaring impressively behind him in a show of strength. A threat like this from an archangel was hard to ignore; the code hardwired into Castiel’s brain screamed at him to submit. But another sensation was demanding his attention, the sickening grasp of human pain clawed at his mind. He was always well-tuned to the suffering of humanity, but he was particularly in touch with the pain of certain ones.

“Cas?” He turned towards Dean’s voice and reached out with his grace, feeling for the source of the pain.

“Castiel do not turn away from me,” Raphael commanded, his tone carrying the weight of authority. Castiel strode over to where Dean knelt. Dean stared at him with unfocused eyes, his hands reaching up to grip Castiel’s arm as he gently tapped two fingers to Dean’s head. His grace sought out the fracture in Dean’s skull, smoothing it over and healing the damage.

“Castiel,” Raphael called again, his voice audibly shaking with poorly-concealed anger. Castiel shot Dean what he hoped would be a reassuring smile before turning to face his foe. “It’s over Castiel, I have the key. How could you ever imagine your hairless apes could keep it from me?” Balthazar snorted loudly, breaking the tension held by Raphael’s commanding stare.

“Well I’ll kneel in submission now then shall I? I can’t hope to defy the holder of the key to a fish and chip shop somewhere in Coventry.” Balthazar chuckled at the success of his plan. Castiel joined in his mirth, smiling as the satisfaction in Raphael’s expression wavered. He held his arm aloft, uncurling his fingers to reveal something minute balanced on his palm. Raphael’s eyes flickered to the small stone in his hand. It was most unimpressive in appearance at first glance but there was something decidedly unsettling about it when it caught the light, a faint glow that was barely noticeable to even an angel’s eyes. When Castiel had plucked it carefully from the weapon hoard, it had begun to hum softly, sending ripples through his vessel’s skin. All grandeur slipped from Raphael’s form; he seemed to shrink into the confines of his vessel, wide eyes fixed on Cas’ hand in abject horror. His falter made Castiel bold.

“Balthazar and I are not sure what this does. Or even what it is,” his tone affecting a bravado he’d never known himself to possess. Perhaps the Winchesters really had rubbed off on him. Balthazar strode up beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“But I think we just found the perfect test subject,” he remarked. “This isn’t over,” Raphael warned. With one last formidable glare in his direction, Raphael disappeared in a whirl of plumage.

“That’s right run away,” Dean mumbled from behind him.

* * *

 

“What do you mean gone?!” Bobby’s expression was unreadable as he turned to face Sam. After Raphael had turned tail and ran, Cas had spirited them back to Bobby’s place and, to Balthazar’s intense annoyance, agreed to hang around and answer some of their questions which included, but were not limited to, ‘what the hell?’ (courtesy of Sam) and ‘can I murder your best friend?’ (courtesy of Dean). Bobby also had some explaining to do, and had recounted the events since Dean and Sam had been thrown through a portal to wonderland. One detail of his recollection in particular had snagged Sam’s attention.

“Just upped and left,” Bobby elaborated, “that angel’s flightier than a werewolf at a jewellery store.” Sam struggled to seem nonchalant. Honestly, he knew that he should be unsurprised that Gabriel had vanished; angels were in the habit of doing that and Gabriel had no loyalty to them. But he couldn’t shake the hurt and disappointment he felt at Bobby’s words, as illogical as those feelings were. With Gabriel there, hell felt more distant. Dean helped in his own way, throwing them both into hunts and research and barely giving him time to remember. But Gabe was different. Granted, his ability to zap Sam into dreamless sleep was much appreciated but it wasn’t just that. The funfair had been a genuinely fun distraction that hadn’t been drenched in gore; the kind Dean and Sam could never afford. Dean expressed his confusions aloud.

“Why’d he even turn up? I thought he’d fucked off to do whatever immortal assholes do all day?”

“Something about checking on Sam’s mind funnel, so he says,” Bobby replied, his tone doubtful.

“Why? Did he think something was wrong?” Sam asked quickly, trying and failing to conceal the note of panic in his voice. If there was something off about the delicate precaution Death had set up in his mind, it would explain why the archangel had spent so much time with him, monitoring his mental state.

“Hell if I know, that’s all he said.”

“Should we call him?” Sam proposed, “I mean if it’s something important.”

“After he basically left us for dead? Not freaking likely. Besides, Cas can check your head out.” At Dean’s suggestion, Cas rose from his awkward position on the couch and took Sam’s head forcefully between his hands.

“Hey, ouch!” Cas ignored Sam’s protests but released his head after a moment.

“There’s nothing out of the ordinary,” Cas concluded.

“You mean apart from all the hell?” Sam joked feebly. Dean snorted audibly and Cas looked at him in disdain.

“Yes, apart from all the hell,” Cas confirmed, turning back to Sam. “Your memories are filtering through at a normal pace.” He paused, his expression suddenly softer. “I’m afraid more will come back to you tonight.” Sam sucked in a breath and nodded, he’d figured as much.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks Cas.” He stood up, Dean’s eyes following him in concern. “I’ll just… go then. See if I can find any more about purgatory lore.” His excuse was weak; the others would see through it in an instant. But they let him go anyway, always respecting one another’s need for alone time.

* * *

 

Dean watched Sam leave with a sour taste in his mouth. The urge to save his little brother from whatever big bad was lurking under his bed was a difficult one to shake; sitting there uselessly made his skin itch like a rash of worry that he could never cure, the pain becoming more severe the more he scratched. This was Sam’s battle to fight; he could only cheer him on from the sidelines, offering half-time oranges and the occasional thumbs-up.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas had managed to appear next to him without a sound, his question shaking Dean from his thoughts. “Yeah Cas, I’m just peachy. Alternate universes really screw with your head,” Dean replied earnestly. Cas’ eyes flickered downwards, the corners of his eyes and mouth wrinkling into a minute smile. In fact, Dean could’ve sworn he looked sheepish.

“My apologies, I was unaware of the nature of the distraction Balthazar promised,” Cas promised solemnly. He’d ran over the weapons situation with them as soon as they’d landed in Bobby’s living room. Meaning that they now knew that Balthazar’s weapon hoard definitely existed, that Cas had access to it, and that Raphael wasn’t happy about it.

“Do you know what that stone does?” Dean asked. He assumed (and hoped) that Balthazar had taken it to safety; anything that could put a look of such fear on the face of an archangel wasn’t something he wanted to mess with. Well, not without ensuring that it wouldn’t vaporise its user first. Cas’ smile grew into something far more definite.

“Not exactly, but we had our suspicions. Raphael just confirmed them,” Cas explained, a hint of pride creeping into his tone. After so long seeing Cas beaten down and weary, the subtle cockiness he rarely affected was a welcome change. Dean couldn’t help but feel a swell of hope; he had faith in Cas’ confidence. Of course, he could simply be affecting the form of last-chance bluff Dean himself was so fond of, as he’d shown in the cemetery shortly before exploding into thousands of pieces. He winced at the mental image, yet he liked seeing Cas so sure of himself despite overwhelming odds. It was a human quality, the playful swagger of a man with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And, as loathe as Dean was to admit it, for a split second he’d found it kinda hot. The bravado, of course, not like Cas was hot. Well, he was definitely attractive but not like in _that_ way. As in an ‘ethereal creature impossible to see or even imagine turned close friend happens to be inhabiting the body of a mildly attractive man’ sort of way. But then again, also in a ‘mannerisms of said ethereal creature are actually kinda cute’ way. Oh god.

“You fractured your skull,” Cas stated, oblivious of Dean’s internal dilemmas.

“I-er, what?” Dean replied eloquently.

“A linear fracture in the base of your skull where you struck the wall.” Dean couldn’t help but notice that Cas balled his hands into tight fists as he spoke.

“Ah, well.” Dean ran a hand over the back of his head. “No harm done, you fixed that up good. We’ve both had worse.” Cas chuckled at that.

“Yes, many things pale in comparison to death or hell,” he observed. Cas was still standing rigidly next to the couch, making it difficult for Dean to read his expressions. Not like it wasn’t always somewhat difficult. This was probably the longest time Cas had stuck around lately, without an urgent reason for him to be there. Dean shuffled along the sofa, leaving enough space for Cas to sit down. Cas clearly took the hint as he sat down, hands folded neatly in his lap.

“I’m going out,” Bobby announced, popping his head out of the kitchen, “try not fall into another universe while I’m gone.”

“Can’t promise anything Bobby, you know us,” Dean retorted. Bobby huffed and strode past them, wearing his least battered hunter’s cap. “You going to see sheriff Mills?” Dean called to him, a teasing edge to his voice.

“No!” Bobby immediately shot back. “Maybe. Shut up!” And with that charming statement, he was out the door, leaving Dean and Cas in companionable silence.

“Do you need to be back? S’been a while since you’ve stayed still this long. I dunno, no intergalactic battles calling your name?” Dean inquired, only half-jokingly.

“We’re safe for the time being; bringing recent events into account, Raphael will be regrouping. This is the calm before the storm, as you humans say,” Cas replied. His posture was become decidedly more relaxed, perhaps really taking a break for the first time in a while.

“I have to ask, is this your first break in over a year?” Dean asked, his brow furrowing in worry. Here he was wrapped up in his own, admittedly very pressing, family problems while Cas was somewhere stretching himself to breaking point trying to fix heaven. Cas simply looked befuddled by the question so Dean attempted to elaborate. “When…when I lived with Lisa and Ben I didn’t hear one peek from up top.” Committing these words to air was difficult; as much as Dean pretended that jumping straight back into a hunter’s life, it simply wasn’t the truth. You can’t erase an entire year of your life just like that. Especially not that king of year. Not a year with the woman he’d loved; not a year with a boy who became the closest thing to his own child Dean had ever or might ever experience. But he just hadn’t belonged there, that had become clear after the first couple of months. Subjecting Lisa and Ben to his own personal horrorshow had been a big mistake, one they didn’t deserve. The hell nightmares hadn’t gone away, he doubted they ever would. But they’d resurfaced with a vengeance in the last year, with Sam and Lisa and Cas and Ben and Bobby subjected to the worst shit his asshole brain could conjure deep in the night. Lisa was understanding, more than he could ever have hoped. But it had taken for a long time for him to realise that denying the main part of his life by cutting off Cas and Bobby was just doing more harm in the long run. Whenever Cas spoke of the war in heaven, or whenever Bobby mentioned the monster mash that had been growing in the last year, Dean couldn’t help but feel personally guilty for turning his back that way. He’d thought no contact would help him adjust to white picket life. Whichever idiots preached the idea of a clean break were talking horseshit apparently.

“It’s just crazy,” he mused aloud, “we stopped the apocalypse together and we could’ve just never seen each other again. That’s it, adios?” Cas was silent, his expression unreadable as blue eyes burned into Dean’s own. The frustration bubbling up inside him for so long came to a head, bursting out of Dean in one snap of caring aggression.

“You could’ve died, man! And we’d never have known.”

“Dean…I,” Cas began but trailed off, breaking eye contact to fix his gaze on the wall before him. Dean felt himself deflating, his anger seeping out.

“Sorry man, I just…” But he didn’t know what to say. So they sat staring forwards, words unsaid hanging in the mild air between them, each wondering how to voice just some of them.

* * *

 

Balthazar followed Castiel through the, frankly, disgusting corridor he’d summoned him to. Clearly, whoever was in charge of this place, and from the off white tiles and charming concrete flooring he suspected it may be a medical building of some description, had ignored all human health codes. Or perhaps the rainbow of stains that adorned the walls contributed the aesthetic they were going for. They rounded a corner and Balthazar found himself in a cheerful looking tiled room with a high, domed roof, decorated with all manner of cages and implements that would make the Marquis de Sade blush. Some were occupied. Balthazar inhaled deeply. Wet dog and rotten blood made an unpleasant scent combination, but one indicative of werewolves and vampires if one possessed senses as strong as an angel’s. But even that couldn’t mask the pungent reek of sulphur, which Balthazar could immediately attribute to the uncaged demon standing in the middle of the room holding pliers. Cas approached the demon, his wings prone and his stance non-hostile. Neither of them seemed alarmed by presence of the other.

“Cassie do you want to explain to me what’s going on?” Balthazar prompted, staying rooted at the entrance of the room in case of emergency.

“Balthazar, this is…”

“Crowley, king of hell,” the demon butted in, tossing the pliers aside with a loud clang and slithering towards him with a hand outstretched.

“Really,” Balthazar uttered in disbelief, staring at the offered hand with revulsion. “You’re the king of hell?”. The demon, Crowley, dropped his hand and backed off slightly.

“I’m wounded, I really am,” he drawled sarcastically. Balthazar looked at Cas over this abomination’s shoulder.

“Cassie what the fuck is the king of hell doing here?” Once again, it was the demon and not Cas that replied.

“I’m his business partner.” Balthazar turned his attention back to Crowley, folding his arms in a clear show of disdain.

“In the business of?” He questioned. The twisted mouth of Crowley’s demonic form curled into an obvious smirk.

“Saving the bloody world.”


End file.
